


Under Grey Skies (relaunch)

by BonJiro



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: A touch of cannibalism, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad blood between a Princess and a Shitty Wizard King, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, DARK AS HELL, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Roller Coaster, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, In which Zelda bites off more than she can chew but so does Ganondorf, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Knifeplay, Link's in it too, Living With The Enemy, Locked In, Mental Coercion, Much introspection, Porn With Plot, Psychological Torture, Racial Tension, Rather than total rape/noncon, Stockholm Syndrome, Trapped together until they sort their bullshit, Trying to out-manipulate eachother, Witty Banter, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic, but just to be safe, knife kink on Ganondorf's part, mindgames, mutual stockholm actually, rewrite of an old fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4402979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonJiro/pseuds/BonJiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[A rewrite of the original, which will end with a bonus Epilogue.] <br/>When Zelda wrestles with her decisions concerning her country's welfare after her surrender to Zant, she comes to accept that she is to be a trophy of war. But are trophies not kept to be admired? She had garnered too little attention, stripped of all but her life and blessing, sitting idle as a souvenir of war while her allies worked in the world outside her small tower. <br/>But Zelda is not content to wait and do nothing while forces muster all around her. Wisdom beckons she act, and every minute that rolls by convinces her there is far more that can be done with her role than old legends tell. </p>
<p>Doing all she can to draw fire away from the Hero's progress in a desperate bid to buy time--and perhaps even shift Destiny's course itself--Zelda lays down all she has left in the struggle to influence and, ultimately, subdue her captor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [UGS Original](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/131099) by BonJiro. 



A thunder storm ravaged the country of Hyrule.

For hours longer than she cared to count, a deluge of rain had come hammering down to drench the world. The threatening rumble of the skies seemed to make the earth quiver beneath as each flash of lightning crackled down from the firmament to sear the soil. A frigid gale blew, tempest tossed to roar and hiss like a scornful god, and to pointed ears especially it would serve as the first warning from the divine.

The cold stone within the castle would produce no warmth against the harsh night raging outside, as the echo of thunder rolled against every wall to threaten. This was particularly true of Zelda’s keep. The high tower held only the mourning Princess and a dim fire, struggling to warm the dreary chambers, and by sheer luck alone provide the scant light her eyes required to read by.  
Sitting close to the embers, resigned to a wooden chair, she sat scouring a leather-bound tome for the little comfort it could afford her. Flipping through the pages of history, old legends and tales of heroes would lend her strength, whispering quietly of better fortunes to come. Zelda borrowed from them the fortitude to endure her imprisonment with grace and sanity, stoically depending upon the pattern she found within the pages. Ever faithful, she knew the Goddesses design, and resolved to wait patiently for the day her own hero would arrive.

But as the days had rolled on, the Princess was slowly coming to accept that their timing would be closely matched to that of a powerful rival. His presence was already thick upon the air, like a foul stench she couldn’t place, seeming to seep from the very walls to add malice to the already bitter cold.

Sentience could nearly be traced of the weather, for no sooner did that notion sweep her heart again with worry, lightning would cleave the sky beside her window closely. Like a cracking whip it struck her to flinch, her frail form illuminated by its momentary glow as breath hitched in her throat. That awful shiver of premonition crept through her once again and she sighed, closing the book and turning her crystalline gaze toward the weary fire.

_Perhaps the Gods are angry with my decision?_

It flashed through her mind to match the lightning, though with a light shake of her head it too had faded.

She had never held a choice in the matter. This sorry state of affairs was the only mercy she could give her people, lingering in the bleak half light to fear a nameless evil, but she had ensured they lived yet. None of the spirits below realised their true position—how close to destruction they had come—and Zelda prayed that none would ever figure it out. For the moment, they were unharmed, and of that she claimed some success as a leader.

Order could be restored in time, and her people could be spared the knowledge of most of its absence. Delicate brows furrowed as she remembered the day darkness had fallen with pathos.

Adjusting the cloak around her fragile form, slender fingers gripped the dark fabric tightly to hide herself further within its folds. A sombre expression took over her delicate features as pale lips moved, weakly mouthing the ultimatum a usurper had said to her only a week before.

_“Surrender or die.”_

This was the only mere thing she held the power to deliver, granted wordlessly where her defiant voice would have brought death upon them—no, there had never been a choice at all.

Could she have been expected to do more? It was not her place to have stood and fought that day, satin gloved fingers tightly wound about the grip of her rapier to challenge an insurmountable force, willing a fool’s battle to come.

She was not the hero.

But then, the Princess could only wonder what her post now entailed. In the past few days, it seemed she was to simply sit and be little more than a hostage, replete with information her enemies knew well enough themselves and blood already spent on a broken throne. Her book told of her forebears past, documenting much of the same. Her blessing of wisdom was bestowed to govern or guide, the host idle as another worked to reclaim the kingdom in its ruler’s place.

She had never questioned such a thing when younger eyes had scanned such stories, fondly picturing the battles of bygone eras. Zelda’s faith in the Gods’ designs had never been shaken. But brought into reality, the tales had lost their charms, and the Heavens seemed the idle party as her own mind—and heart—began to race.

Holy eyes were upon her, expectant that she play her part, and the time ticked by wasted. There were many things she felt she could have done aside simply waiting and watching the world writhe below. Wisdom beckoned she act, and every minute that rolled by convinced her there was far more that could be done with her role than what the legends told.

Did she serve a purpose while she waited here in the dust and cold, or purposely serve?

Thunder rolled once more from the clouds, the harsh boom jarring her from her reverie as it shook her very bones, drawing another flinch as if willing the Princess to move. Rising quickly to it, Zelda stood in a small fit of pique, harassed and small against the sparse chamber as she called out to the angry skies in answer.

“What more can I do but sit and hope, while confined by lock and key?!”

It echoed out lonely and sharp within the still air, dying with the rumble to leave shrill silence ringing in her ears. Shaking hands slowly steadied, releasing the pressured bite of her nails upon leather bound cover as she settled, and soon the Princess was gazing out of the window with resentment in her eyes.

The Gods must’ve understood that she had played her part as well as she could have for the brief time she had found herself in this new and unfortunate chapter. Like any other woman bearing the name Zelda within that decrepit tome, was it not her place here beside the fire, awaiting the chosen one? This is what the tales told. She had done all she could, pulled along like a puppet on fate’s thread and gracefully performed as expected.

But the raging storm had stirred up her doubts, and it was clear to her mind that no matter what would be written of these patient days in the pages of her own history, it simply could not be left as painfully accurate as this.

She frowned to herself quizzically as she watched the clouds move, swirling and inky like no storm she’d ever seen. Picking up the sides of her cloak and setting the book down gingerly upon her stool, steps were swiftly taken toward the dark lattice framing such eerie, sullen skies.

Even with those few footfalls alone, the warmth was fleeting to be left behind with the fire. It was too quick a change, she felt as she thought on it, as if she had stepped into the gales themselves. The chill of the outside world seemed to seep in through the shuddering glass, snaking around her form to appraise and explore… perhaps even, she realised, to threaten.

It prickled at her flesh as if her robes were not there at all, a sensation not unlike burning, in fact, once the threshold of the cold had been passed. An unnatural itch of magic raising the hairs upon her skin crawled faintly across every inch of her, and quick to decipher it, Zelda would send a wary glance to the back of her hand to catch the golden flicker there.

She stifled a slight gasp as it struck her, awful epiphany pouring forth from her blessing to fill the Princess with silent dread. It was not the Gods that riled impatiently within the storm, but a man whose name she had dared not speak, nor even think of when she could help it, if only to avoid the chance of summoning such a presence. A character that had haunted her imagination for as long as she had held tales of him in hand—a demon thief and a scoundrel who stole not from men, but the Heavens themselves.

Zelda stared out at the skies, studying in the tempest any personification to be related to that man, paranoid and awful and omen as it could’ve been. Drawing a slow breath, she placed a hand to the window pane, fingers arching reluctantly at the biting frost it held as she watched. The storm raged as his fury might, fighting against whatever chains still held him at bay. Compelling thunderheads rolled and grew in darkness and strength, as his power no doubt returned. Lightning cleaved the darkness like flashes of his madness, clawing out at the soils of a land he craved with a desert thirst, and Zelda’s features softened into a perceptive and curious expression.

Perhaps he too was aware of the gaps within the lines of her book, and knew she was a far more valuable asset than even she had given herself credit for. The Princess was not a hostage, she realised as thunder rolled low.

She was a trophy to be kept, a souvenir of Zant’s victory and the success of his coup, and Zelda could not quell the sudden notion that she was to be presented to the one who sent him.

Five days had the imp—a native of this Twilight—scoured the world in search of the chosen one at her behest. Whether Midna returned with the hero in time was a likelihood, for Zelda held every faith that fate would reveal itself soon, but it seemed the arrival of Zant’s master was upon them now.

Her hand fell away from the pane slowly, withdrawn and held to her chest as the Princess took a step back. If nothing else, Wisdom allowed her to be decisive in dire times, and the beginnings of curiosity stirred vaguely upon the fringe of her mind. If this was the hand she was dealt, she would play it with everything she had. Soon enough, her enemy would show his face, and from there she could glean answers and weaknesses if need be.

The ghost of a smile lingered cynical on her lips as her breath fogged out before her, bold as she whispered the name she, since childhood, had been wary of.

"…Save your energy, Ganondorf. This has only just begun.”

As if to second this, an odd scuffling of paws sounded from the stone stairwell, catching her by surprise until a low lupine growl echoed out into the chamber behind her. A giggle swiftly matched it, haughty and familiar to signal Midna’s presence as well, and thunder clapped violently overhead to rattle the glass once more in angry protest.

The Princess did not flinch when it came. Instead, she simply bowed her head to send a knowing glance to the skies, and turned to face the first ray of hope to cut through the darkness of the storm.

A wolf had arrived to warm its fur by her fire, and his eyes held the shine of a Hero.


	2. Mirror, Mirror

The Princess had settled into a much calmer state of mind since sending the Twili and her companion on their way, relieved that the course of fate had begun to take hold. So too did the storm subside, she noted, to settle into a miserable though patient pattering of rain.

The name Link was one that struck her ear with a fond and quiet precision, intimately known, though it was very rarely spoken or written. Zelda held little doubt that the wolf with steely blue eyes was indeed a sentient beast of virtue and courage, and feeling her worries somewhat eased by his presence, she grew confident that Midna had indeed stumbled upon one of Heroic blood.

Narrowly avoiding one of the guards posted to her keep, they had left her tower safely to travel unhindered for the moment, but Zelda was not foolish enough to believe their movements were unknown. Avoiding the fiendish creatures that now stalked castle halls only meant avoiding an immediate punishment.

Left to her own devices, she had taken to tactics in her small room, pacing slow beside her window as she watched the world turn under twilight. Though she felt certain now that Zant was simply an emissary of a much greater threat, neither the usurper or his master had made habit of frequenting the castle since the coup was staged, leaving only beastly sentries to watch over her.

Dipping her quill in ink, the Princess began to take note of the rounds they made, surreptitiously documenting whatever she could—which creatures were more alert, whatever they were armed with, any sign of openings left by change overs. It would take a while yet, sneaking down the stairwell to risk a peek every so often and listening close for the shifting of metal greaves, but she was determined to track the guards as closely as she could.

If there was any chance of slipping past them, she would find it.

  
In the meantime, Zelda read and wondered of the Heroes in her tales, comparing them to the one brought before her. She had been taken aback by the form in which he came—some hopeful part of her had expected to see the verdant green of a tunic when first she laid eyes on the Chosen of this era. The coarse fur, blended of ash shades and sooty black, had come as a shock to say the least, and it was clear that the affects of the twilight tainting her lands alone would hinder much of the progress to be made in dissolving this occupation.

Darkness held the winning hand, and it would take a mighty bluff to gain the advantage from here.

While the Princess found herself both concerned for Link’s welfare and hopeful of his success, she also weighed the fact that she knew very little of Midna’s true motives. Her dealings with the mysterious imp had been a mixture of tells as to her intentions thus far, and while Zelda believed she could trust the Twili insofar as keeping her word, there was no illusion between them that Midna acted out of the goodness of her heart.

Whatever her reasons, Zelda reasoned with herself that Midna’s aid—despite ulterior motives—was still an invaluable thing; the Hero could not navigate the Twilight alone. So long as the imp did not intend to betray or worsen things further, they could do nothing but accept alliance where it arose and be grateful for such a thing.

A hidden agenda, while still serving to combat the plague upon Hyrule, was something Zelda could not bring herself to be concerned with too greatly at present. As long as Link obtained the Master Sword, at this point it made little difference as to what path they took there.

This quickly became something of a mantra for the Princess as the days rolled by, bringing fleeting comfort as she was forced to put her faith in old legends and strangers.

Another morning broke, haunted by grey clouds and jaundiced skies, silence muffled by the sound of heavy rain. Zelda stirred slowly to the pattering upon her window, shivering beneath the covers and reluctant to face the bleak reality she was becoming accustomed to.

Routine had already taken hold here; the dreary habits of a prisoner forming. A stifled yawn, a few disbelieving blinks as her vision was cleared of sleep to focus upon the damask brick of tower walls. A foreign and uncomfortable bed beneath her that she felt confused by—in those awful, half formed first moments of the day—before reminding herself that it was indeed where she now slept, bereft of the silk and satin she was most familiar with.

Another common facet of her time her was one that, perhaps, personally disturbed her the most. Once again, she woke with no dreams to recall, even her slumber now reduced to an uneventful and hollow thing to be repeated. At first, Zelda had taken some relief for the fact that she slept without the prophetic visions expected of her blessing—she did not witness the coming darkness, nor wake screaming and frightful like she did as a child, and so she rested well to conserve her health and sanity.

But so too had it occurred to her that such nightmares had vanished from her head with good reason, for time had allowed prophecy to bleed forth into reality; warnings coming to an end as events finally began to unfold. Worse still, no visions of victory against this blight had come to take their place, and this had settled into the depths of Zelda’s heart with an anxious weight.

It took some willpower to lift herself away from the lumpy pillow, stiff and cold as she sat up, mournfully scanning the sparse chamber with a dejected sigh. To her great sorrow, she found herself privately wishing she could have all of her nightmares back tenfold, if only they could be kept imprisoned within her head and never sink their fangs into the waking world as they did now.

 _It isn’t as if a nursemaid is here to comfort me like those days, either way,_ she thought with some defeat, taking a tangled lock into her fingers for inspection to add to the lament.

What she wouldn’t have given simply to have some kindly old woman take her hand, guiding her over to the vanity of her old rooms to sit the girl down and brush brunette tresses back into perfection. Someone to soothe her, kind company mingled upon a strict and mothering hand, fencing off the chaotic turns of her mind with disciplined schedules and orderly advice.

“Just be grateful to remain in your own home…” she whispered to herself, attempting to imitate the care she had known—it had become a lonely habit of hers, talking to herself as wisdom worked to balance her worry. “…intact as it remains, for the moment.”

Tentatively pushing the covers aside, she shifted to place her feet upon the cold stone, steeling herself for another day with a slow and steadying breath. As she padded to cross the distance between bed and the chair her cloak lay draped over, crystalline eyes drifted toward the window again in habit, gauging the weather beyond with a sliver of paranoia.

The slip she wore to bed held no defence against the chill, despite her becoming used to the bite revealed by a dying fire, and she was quick to cover her form further.

“At least the storm hasn’t returned.” She murmured, clutching the cloak for warmth as she suppressed the last of her shivering. “Though… if it is anything like the absence of my dreams, that might not be a favourable omen.”

Her ears twitched as a few stray droplets sizzled against the greying embers of her fireplace, and with a wary furrowing of delicate brows, she wondered when her true enemy would confirm himself.

If the weather was indeed a reflection of evil’s progress, a sudden calm could only be a cause of concern.

Holding an incredulous look, Zelda forced herself to turn away, knowing such thoughts would only drive her deeper into the abyss. In the pursuit of normality, some semblance of stability taken by the ghosted routine her handmaidens had taught her, Zelda moved instead toward the old oaken desk nestled away in the corner of her prison. Without fail, it had become the sanctuary of her mornings, home to parchment and quill and a dusty mirror forged of silver; the glass polished up to allow her proper grooming.

If nothing else, she would not be stripped of her _pride_.

The Princess settled in with the familiar scrape of wooden legs against stone, taking up an old brush that had lost half its bristles as she set to slow work on her hair. She watched herself in the mirror, patient and poised as she worked through knotted tresses, contented by the peace she found in the action.

Odd as it may have been, Zelda found she preferred to look upon herself unadorned by regal attire or the jewels of royalty. Coiled upon the desk lay the neglected crown, flashed no more than a glance as it sat powerless upon the word. A small part of her mourned the loss of her right to it, unworthy as she felt her brow was of what it symbolised, and yet she could not deny the liberated flutter that trickled through her when her reflection sat bearing no trace of her status.

There was something uniquely powerful, she thought, in her humble appearance alone. It was not the beauty she had been praised for—inherited from her dear mother—but rather something private within her that felt fuller without such things, as if her blood ran cheapened by the trinkets representing it.

Her reflection smiled back at her when the task was done, to her eye a genuine image of herself as she truly was, and running her fingertips through smoothed tresses Zelda could only take comforting satisfaction from the result. These little things left to her control had become, innocuous as they might have seemed to anyone watching, the small luxuries that would keep her strong within this place.

It was only then, as the faithful brush was lowered to rest upon the wood, that a dark and rather sinister chuckle echoed out to be heard.

Zelda froze, that awful chill seeming to seep in from nowhere, her first instinct to look behind her in horror for the intruder to whom it belonged—there had been no creaking door, no flash of movement within the mirror to warn of them. She was alone, and a frantic sweep of her gaze across the chamber confirmed this. The tone of a stanger’s amusement rumbled low in her ears all the same, and the Princess realised its origin quickly, paling further as her head slowly turned to look at the mirror once more.

Her reflection did not stare back.

Upon the silvery glass, sharp against the streaks born of dust, golden irises now resided where blue danced only moments before. Those eyes struck her immediately, piercing as they bored into her own, filled with experience and intelligence as malice swirled like flames within them to send a familiar shiver crawling up her spine.

There was no doubt; the deathly chill that so often swept her, like the weather and the storm, belonged to those eyes. All one and the same, and now—unnerved as it fell into place—Zelda realised just how often that golden gaze had watched her.

A creak strained from the chair as her back pressed against it, her body unconsciously desperate to put distance between herself and the mirror as more detail became apparent, filling the glass like spoke to stain and paint the picture of the man to whom such eyes belonged.

The hard lines of armour became apparent, polished to shine black like obsidian as bold filigree formed western designs, adorned with droplets of topaz and gold to boast wealth gained by way of war. Tanned skin—darkened so far as to be compared to burnt umber—matched the leather hide to be glimpsed of his under dressings, thick and hardy from a life worked under the harshest sun, tightly sculpted around corded muscle that could lift her by the throat with ease. Exotic features, worn away into the lines of a natural scowl by desert winds, allowed him to claim a fearsome calm for his expression as it was framed by fiery locks and a regally tended beard.

Tightly curled about a thorned crown of gold, his hair boasted an incarnadine shade of red Zelda had only witnessed of the freshest wound, a series of thin chains running forth to hold a headpiece of foreign sovereignty upon his brow which—unlike her own—seemed to boldly exemplify everything the man believed of his entitlement to power.

His mouth ticked finally into a smirk that she could only describe as cruel, and her stomach seemed to twist in turn, as if she were face to face with an abomination of nature itself.

The apparition shifted slowly, leaning forward behind the glass to lace thick fingers before him, and the rich rumble of his voice drew comparison to the imposing thunder of the storm, threatening to pull a flinch from her yet.

“Hello, Princess.”

Anger flashed through her bones like lightning, cleaving the fear that had silenced her as a sneer ghosted Zelda’s lips. This was the face of her country’s despair, the master who had sent the malformed armies of the twilight forth to corrupt and kill, and the owner of a cursed name even her father had dared not speak.

‘Hello’ was an insult more potent than she could bear.

“So it is you.” She gave it calmly, the words slithering between her teeth a disdainful hiss. “I had begun to wonder if we would ever meet… at least I was partially correct. Ganondorf Dragmire, I believe?”

The chuckle rang out again, the low sound of it reverberating within her very bones as the smirk widened enough to flash the white of his teeth, and a slow conceding nod was all he offered to her.

“I would imagine you are not here to be diplomatic.” She returned curtly, regaining her composure as her hands came to be folded upon her lap.

“I’m afraid _diplomacy_ is not one of my strong suits, no.”

A terse grimace was her only reply.

Arching a fiery brow, the Gerudo shifted to adopt a more matter of fact expression, the haughty smirk of amusement fading as he seemed to muse aloud. “I have been known as a thief to many, but truth be told, I am not one to slip in unnoticed and steal whatever it is I desire like a coward in the night. I am a King, Princess. I take boldly the spoils of a battle won, and I thought it was high time you were allowed to know the face of the victor…”

Then the corner of his mouth ticked to hint the smirk once more, subtle though it was now as he sent a glance toward her brush.

“…That is, unless Hyrule’s Princess has become more concerned with her appearance than the affairs of her country?”

Clenching her jaw lightly to keep her tongue in check, Zelda studied him with an unmoved stare, memorising the lines of his face under the notion that expression often guided truth. She had stumbled across the art of reading a lie in one’s eyes in the books she had read in her youth, or gleaning proper intention from the corner of a mouth, but as she watched she could not find trace of such things clearly enough to follow.

She decided then he must be the most practised she had ever held misfortune to meet at hiding his true self from another’s eye; an opportunistic bastard and a liar. Not hours after the King’s mysteriously sudden death, the coup had been staged and the castle easily overrun with beasts born of shadow and misery. In the haste and horror of it all, strung up upon the altar of ultimatum and duty, the Princess had barely gotten the chance to mourn her father at all.

“If you had expected to find a dishevelled and broken captive quivering alone by this time, I am quite sorry to have disappointed you. It is not easy to be appraised of my people’s well being, when my only view is from a tower window, after all. I have filled my time as I could.” She returned smoothly, delicate features schooled into nonchalant and distant neutrality.

The Gerudo inclined his head with a twitch of his brow, hiding his mouth behind his hands as thumbs came to support his support his chin thoughtfully.

“You think me predictable?”

It was Zelda’s turn then to wear the ghosted smirk, creasing the kiss of her mouth daringly though she knew her coyness may cost her. She would take his comments in stride, refusing to be baited for a rise. If nothing else, the Princess would not entertain him as he wished.

“There are many stories of you, handed down by the last era… not of all of them accurate, mind, but enough that a pattern has been formed.”

“I suppose there are, yes.” he reflected a moment on what she had said, tongue clicking to muse as his hands shifted to reveal a tempered and smug sort of smile. “I do not leave a forgettable impression, so I’ve come to understand… with such a picture painted of me, it stands to reason that you would chose a swift surrender. Inexperienced as you are with war, it is commendable that you foresaw the futility of resistance.”

Crystalline eyes flashed for the defiance she knew it was to speak so frankly to him, wondering if his own temper would prove more volatile than she expected.

“You seem to speak of yourself much as the tales would portray you, but as I said, not _all_ of them are accurate. For a King, as you say, who does not wish to pride themselves on cowardly or stealthy occupations, your actions beg to differ. Be it swearing false fealty so as to snatch away royal treasures, sending Zant as your emissary, or hiding behind glass as you do now… you seem to me the very _opposite_ of forthright, I’m sorry to say.”

“Is that so?” a humourless scowl formed quickly, a small myriad of things such as curiosity, anger and offence crossing the lines of his face. It was easy to guess that he was weighing her words carefully, turning them over for the value of the insult to come and deciding upon a fitting punishment when it did.

Zelda watched him closely as she spoke, silently testing the waters of his nature.

“You make a marvellous _politician_ … but I have watched the rise of many men within my father’s court. I am familiar with a silver tongue in pursuit of power, and it is in that—rather than the tales—I can indeed draw predictability from you. I had feared you would be beyond my depth when the coup occurred, I’ll admit, but reflection and the way you conduct yourself have settled my nerves since.”

It was dangerous, she knew, to bluff him so. If there was one thing to be garnered of the tales of old, it was the fragile line between controlled manipulation and vengeful fury he possessed. She needed to scope out his boundaries and find it, prying to feel the gaps she could exploit and whether she could slip past them. If he would brag or gloat to prove her wrong, make comment to reveal he had been aware of her other visitors, that was all information precious to her progress—anything of his intentions, any hint of where to go next to undo him.

Even if she could only manage to buy the Hero time by drawing their enemy’s ire upon herself to distract, it would make her position all the more bearable.

As an aside, wrapping it all up into the point of a barb, the Princess would take to smoothing out the fabric of her slip, so negligent that she would no longer even hold his gaze; dismissive.

“It is refreshing, however, to find the Demon Thief of old does not fright me as an adult quite like he did when I was a child. Once, I confess, I thought of you much like a monster hiding beneath the covers, a vague and worrying mystery that loomed in the shadows. Thankfully, that image has been long shed of you… it seems you are just another Lord with far too much influence, and the added advantage of mystical inclination.”

And so it was that the first lie came easily from her lips, lingering warm in the air before her to slip like poison into his ears.

Zelda knew well of Din’s blessing upon his hand. She was aware of his familiarity with war and royalty alike. She had read of the wars before the unification, Gerudo warriors rivaling even the Sheikah in their penchant for death, and she knew that he had lead them not as a general, but a soldier out on the frontlines beside them. It sent shivers down her spine to think that he, chained and run through by the holy Sages themselves, could not only somehow free himself but seconds later, attack and _kill_ one of their numbers with bare hands.

There was no man or monster the world over that could plunge her heart so quickly into a silent, airless terror at the very thought of them, and of what darkness they left in their wake.

But, Gods above, she could never allow him to know that.

The Gerudo allowed a deathly silence to fall between them after that, having watched the movement of her hands as they easily implied her dismissal, golden eyes narrowing decisively upon her face as she finished. To her surprise, he retained his collected calm, simply darkening into a level of resentment she had not seen as yet.

“If that is all you know to compare me to, Princess, then your life has been tragically _kind_ to you.” he offered then, inclining his head to peer at the brush upon her desk as the fires of his gaze swirled to betray thoughts she hadn’t a hope of knowing. He seemed to reflect upon them carefully, quickly, his fingers shifting to tent before he caught himself to lace them again.

“But that is my mistake.” he continued, quietly confident. “Indeed, from this tower, you likely cannot see how far my… _influence and mystical inclinations_ run. I will work to correct that.”

Zelda struggled not to shrink back into her seat as the Gerudo would lean forward behind the glass, drawing close with a secretive curve worn upon his lips, whispering to her with a dangerous camber in his eyes.

“…When Hyrule lies burning at your feet; when even the fortified walls of the town below are crumbling amongst the ashes, keeping up the _appearance_ of control will be but the most _distant_ of frivolities. I can only wonder how long away the day is when you are a dishevelled, weeping wreck who has long thrown her hairbrush out of that window in _despair_.”

Crystalline eyes widened as he spoke, a desperate panic taking hold as the man offered a slow nod toward the window behind her. Despite her façade, the fear that he had already made good on such a threat struck her forcefully, a sense of dread washing over her skin numbly—part of her truly expected to turn and find the orange glow of an inferno burning just beyond her window, claiming the once familiar horizon.

Tense as she saw the flash of his eyes, Zelda couldn’t help but turn in her chair, hair whipping behind her as she frantically searched the view from her tower.

To her great relief, she found nothing but the bleak skies she knew, burdened by jaundiced clouds to remain unchanged, and she released a breath she didn’t realize she had held. It must’ve been obvious, for the dark chuckle sounded behind her once again and she cursed herself for it, refusing to turn and see the smug smirk there as she frowned unseen.

“Pride isn't _power_ , after all… Is it, Princess?”

She did not reply. Silence fell to thicken the air and the chill seemed to withdraw from her, like a hand had been removed from her shoulder, the weight of it removed to allow the warmth of her robe to become more present.

Tentatively, Zelda allowed her head to turn, glancing back toward the mirror out of the corner of her eye. Oaken locks of blonde and brunette shades could be found there to replace his, pale flesh her own and a crystalline gaze as was normal. A pallid expression haunted her features as she looked upon them, surprised as she was to suddenly find it there. Darkness had gathered to form circles beneath her eyes and the shadows ran more pronounced about her cheeks to leave her whitewashed and gaunt.

It was as if his very presence had sucked the life from her bones.

A long and shaken sigh rolled from her as her posture broke, slumping forward in her chair to lean elbows upon the desk. Wearily, her head came heavy to rest in her hands, eyes closed and covered as she rubbed them lightly. She felt her palms trembling against her cheeks, wrists feeling weaker than she knew them to be, and soon she let her arms fall to the wood to hold elbows steady.

Listlessly she shook her head, unable to stay the shiver she had taken on since he left as she realised what a toll he took upon her nerves. Every inch of her felt like lead, and with tired eyes cracking open to glance down at her hairbrush, Zelda willed herself to move on with her day if only to spite him.

It was disturbing how much energy even that took, shaken as she was.

 _Parlour tricks and the intimidation tactics of old men too long in their tenure_ , she told herself, forcing herself to think of other things—the comforts of her routine, the discipline of following it. Wooden legs scraped across stone as she drew herself slowly upward, palms settled against the desk for stability as she stared at herself in the mirror.

She was dressed and groomed… what else was it she did, as she had done for the past sixteen days of confinement? It was a confronting thing to realise the man held such a force of presence as to muddle even that simple bit of recall, forcing her to actively remember her place in the day.

Ah, yes. Reading. She would read the same stories, out of the same book—one she needn’t even open to recite in its entirety now—while she sat patiently by the window, and pray.

That was all she could do… or at least, all she knew how, as yet.

Bare feet swept her slowly away from the desk to cross the cold stone, still trembling hand reaching down to pluck the tome from her bedside as she passed by. Settling into her place within the window’s chill, book nestled upon her lap as always, her fingers traced the worn leather without the heart to lift it open at present. Her family’s crest stared boldly back at her from its front, and with furrowed brows she turned away from it, tracing the horizon through the blur of the downpour outside and allowing the calm rhythm against the panes to settle her.

 _I wonder…_ she began to think, shifting her gaze toward the southern forests as much as she could from her tower, _if he has chosen now to start monitoring me more closely for a reason?_

It had indeed been quite a while since her last pair of visitors, and if Ganondorf was indeed watchful of the Hero’s moments as she suspected, his sudden interest in her spirits seemed well timed to suggest Link’s success.

That possibility brought a shimmer of hope back to calm her nerves, tattered as the Gerudo seemed to have left them. A small and hopeful smile graced her as Zelda allowed her hand to fondly sweep the embossed leather of her tome.

_So, he and Midna have likely freed his body of the Twilight’s curse… if he has lifted the veil over Ordon, then Ganondorf’s attention should well and truly have been drawn to them by now. It won’t be long now before he starts actively working to stop their progress, himself._

That tired worry had come creeping back as she closed her eyes with a sigh, clasping her hands tightly together atop the book—an old habit taught to her from childhood by a longstanding nursemaid, intended to channel both worry and anger into swift release, hidden behind the dignity and grace expected of her station. She squeezed tightly, willing the Hero onward from afar and trying to internally bolster her faith in the boy she had barely met, though even with the legends, this was not something that came as easily as she’d have liked.

The darkness behind her eyelids shifted then into a brightened red, and blinking slowly to open them, Zelda found the harsh shimmer of the sun peeking out from behind inky clouds. It had risen to high noon and already started to fall, it seemed, seconds later devoured behind the smokey haze once more to eerily glow there; weakly filtering through.

 _It must be later than I thought_ , she idly considered to herself, blinking away the visual shock of the sun’s brief flash though grateful to regain some sense of the time.

Since her stay in the tower, Zelda had found it rather hard to keep track of how long she had spent here, and the weather blocked out much of the natural sun beyond it—perpetual twilight, it seemed, was exactly that. The Princess knew it had wreaked havoc upon her sleeping patterns as well, and it was little wonder she hadn’t much energy to spare. But with a Western facing tower, whenever she could make out the distant, distorted glow of the sun, she knew the world beyond enjoyed an afternoon.

But with the Gerudo so fresh in her mind, a curious realisation struck her.

Her tower faced _westward_ —the direction of the desert mesas, and her captor’s homeland.

Shifting forward to peer through the iron lattice, Zelda searched the hazy horizon, tracing the distant line of it to find the blurred sand of the dunes. It was difficult to make the out, but she could see them all the same, drawn to them with the aid of a landmark that brought the shiver back to her.

The Western tribe no longer took up residence in the desert, but in their place, the Arbiter’s Grounds stood firm; reaching out of the earth like a clawed hand. Lonely and isolated, juxtaposed to its surrounds and clearly—awfully—visible from the castle, the decrepit prison had long been abandoned though it stood as a testament to the harsh fate of Hyrule’s worst.

It was also the intended destination of Ganondorf, built—in part—to hold him and his followers until their sentence; a failed execution, as fate would have it.

Some method to his madness could be gleaned of that, she realised, as she regarded the distant monolith carefully. He intended for Zelda to watch as her Kingdom fell, unable to prevent the suffering of her people, and though it may not have been the reason he kept her, the Princess was certain it was why he had kept her _here_. It was cruelty, no doubt, but it seemed to run the course of personal vendetta; symbolic and tailor made for her misery.

Perhaps he had chosen a western view for her specifically, or even subconsciously, allowing her a hint at what made him tick. His own people were gone. Though it seemed odd for her to think of him at first, this ruthless warlord of the past, he stated himself as a King and not a conqueror. If beyond his twisted mind, a human heart still mourned the tribe’s fate, her position seemed to imply that he had suffered with such loss and wished for her to know of such pain in turn.

Zelda had read well of the last era, but was not so familiar with the Gerudo—not for lack of interest, but rather, a lack of information that she now wondered of. That fact alone had her suddenly wondering of the historian’s bias, quills influenced by fear, and of how much of her ancestor’s legacies had been censored over time.

Her hands finally unclasped themselves to gingerly settle about the sides of her book, and the Princess’ gaze fell again to the crest it bore. Zelda sighed, regretful of her negligence in chasing up such accounts prior to her capture, now that she was left with only legends and doctored tales.

“The grandest library in all of Hyrule, one flight of stairs and a few halls away…” she mused dejectedly to herself, frowning as she shook her head, “…might as well be _miles_.”

The distant creak of metal doors caught her attention to disturb her, followed soon enough by the heavily shifting foot falls of an inhuman creature as it scurried its way up the stairwell. As it drew nearer, the muffled reptilian snarls seemed to indicate foreign speech, though it was not directed at her—if she didn’t know better, Zelda would’ve sworn she heard the beastly equivalent of a disgruntled and reluctant servant. Even with such warning, she found herself flinching as the sharp knock rang out, jarring against the silence she’d grown used to and seeming to shatter it with unnecessary force. Another snarling—a strange series of clicking growls—did seem to address her this time, though only briefly before the tell tale clatter of metal upon stone could be heard.

Grimacing to remain silent, the Princess listened closely for the creature to retreat, biding her time to avoid them before she stood to set her book aside and hurry over to her doors. Placing both hands to the metal ring serving as her handle, she pulled with all her weight—even shunting it open required more and more effort each day, simply to receive a meal.

Poking her head out to lean through the gap, crystalline eyes would narrow in a habitual distaste. She did not go hungry in this place, for it was hard to gain an appetite at all. Zelda could not decide whether it was the hospitality received, or the food itself, that caused the sinking and queasy sensation in her stomach, but when she heard the knock each day—only once, but all the same—she grew more averse to the thought of eating whatever came with it.

The menu did not change to entice her either, she had found.

Upon the tray as always lay a wooden bowl—which looked to be hand carved by one of the assorted monsters below in boredom—filled with a wheat based gruel that, if she were lucky, sometimes contain more oats than usual. Beside it, a single apple sitting whole as if plucked without care from the castle orchid, had become the thing she looked forward to most. Today it seemed only slightly blemished, with little sign of the birds having gotten to it as it grew. A tin mug filled with water, usually holding flecks of… whatever old barrel they kept it in, she supposed, also accompanied the tray.

With a heavy sigh, the Princess knelt to collect it, already electing to skip the sludge in the bowl as she studied it closer—a fortunate choice, for today, they had also forgotten her spoon. Leaning her weight against the heavy door to close it again, lazy footsteps would carry her back to her bedside, mug taken up to be sipped at while the tray would be unceremoniously tossed aside upon the covers beside her. The metallic taste wove a crinkle into her delicate nose, but Zelda was quick to ignore it.

Instead, she focused on the man responsible for such food being sent.

_If he is aware of Link’s movements, his surveillance of me may become a daily thing… checking in on me and watching for any differences in my behaviour. No doubt he knows of their presence here, previously._

Leaning her chin upon her palm, Zelda cringed for the thought of facing him every day. It was baffling how simply a look could make her feel so frail and small; his voice grating against he bones as it did to leave her hands trembling and her knees weak in worry.

“Din sear it all, I can barely stomach the food, let alone that…” she breathed mournfully, staring into the mug and watching the specks dance about with morbid fascination, exhausted by the thought already.

She knew it meant a daily opportunity to study him, also, but likewise could he begin to decipher her—Zelda had not missed, in their brief conversation, the keen wit his tongue could command. Perhaps he could be reasoned with to some extent if she humoured him, providing the entertainment he seemed privately expectant of.

Surely he, of all people, could understand the importance of proper nutrition and the sickness that could befall one without it. For the moment, at least, it seemed she was of little value to him dead. She knew there was far more to her position than simply to amuse him.

There must have been something she could offer or bargain with that wouldn’t jeopardise the efforts against this occupation, and once she had figured out what exactly that was, leverage could do the rest.

Her attention slowly shifted toward the desk again, eyeing the brush as it sat idle upon the wood, and the last few things he had said to her echoed out within her mind again. The Princess knew, despite her bluff, that his threats were far from empty. She needed to keep his attention upon her, and distract him from the Hero as much as possible, if Link and Midna were to succeed now that Ganondorf had them in his sights.

Human form returned or not, the Master Sword was still far from the Hero’s hand, and if Zelda could manage nothing more than brushing her hair to draw pride from, then indeed, she held no power at all.

But she was close, she felt, to working out the sentries’ movements in the castle below. Soon enough, she would have the opportunity to leave the tower, if only for a short while. Escape was no option, but now that she had thought on it, a book had served her well thus far. The library could only help her further, if only she could get there—she was’t sure what she was looking for as yet, but Nayru willing, she would find it.

If she didn’t, it was very likely the Gerudo would likely see Hyrule torn asunder before Link could lay eyes upon such a blade, let alone face and defeat him in battle like the tales of old.

Something had to give, or the Kingdom she knew and loved would go up in smoke…

And the Princess would have a front row seat.


	3. Run

Another week had passed, time ticking by with an agonisingly slow pace, as the Princess took to waiting for the opportune moment to arise. She had whittled down the schedule of the sentries to within two minutes accuracy now, even able to identify which creatures took which shifts.

A changeover was soon to occur as Zelda paced her chamber patiently, mentally tracking the countdown as pointed ears perked to the sound of any movement below—Iron Knuckles, as she knew them, were the hardest to slip by. Thankfully, they were also the creatures she had become most familiar with. One in particular was tasked with checking on her periodically, having narrowly missed the Hero and the Twili whilst on his rounds once before, though the two stationed outside the stairwell were varied and swapped around often. This included when she bathed.

But they were all slow, and heavy armour gave no advantage against a nimble opponent. More than that, their eyesight was not quite as keen as their hearing; this she knew by one failed attempt, followed by watching through the crack in the lower doors.

A rat had once run by unnoticed, scurrying close to the feet of what it thought to be statues, until a squeak had set them into surprised motion to seal the rodent’s fate with a boot.  
Her failed attempt at escape had come early in the piece, only days into her capture. Boldly, she had slipped through the doors of the bathing chambers, seizing the opportunity when she found herself unguarded for the first time. She hadn’t noted the odd absence of surveillance within the upper floors at that point, desperately fleeing down the first flight of stairs she could in nothing but a towel. None had truly thought her foolish enough to attempt such a daring sprint, but when the Princess soon found herself surrounded within the grand foyer, it became apparent why.

Since then, she had been confined solely to the tower, instead brought up a wash basin for her troubles. The security on the upper levels had been increased as well, but Zelda had gleaned enough—the ground floor was the most heavily patrolled to prevent entry or exit of the castle, but a jaunt within the castle itself was certainly possible with good timing and ample stealth.

Over the course of the week she carefully had planned such absconding, troubled by the Gerudo’s attention thrice more since first he had appeared in her mirror.

His second visitation had been a scathing one that had left her confidence well and truly rattled, in which Zelda learned of the cruelty his words were capable. The third had been a battle of wits that seemed oddly sporting in nature at first, only to devolve into a bitter series of aspersions cast between them, cut short as he vanished from the glass to leave her fuming and unable to vent. The fourth had been much like the first, civil and high handed as they gauged the other carefully and worked to decipher tells and bluffs, mapping the wavers of their voices and the glances of their eyes in order to read the secrets in them.

He was a difficult man to interact with, and the Princess found he had a knack for creeping under her skin and stirring up a whirlwind of emotional turmoil within. She did her best to hide such affects from him, though she had come to loathe the mirror that once brought her subtle comfort.

Even the habit of talking to herself had to be held in check now, for at any moment she could turn to find him smirking in the glass, privy to every word of it. She had found—much to her chagrin—that the Gerudo was able to turn such private thoughts against her whenever he did catch them, possessing a skill for it she had never witnessed in another.

Though she didn’t like to admit it, Ganondorf was indeed slowly chipping away at her resolve, though she guessed this was one of his objectives. She needed something to bolster her defences, and privately, she yearned to one day leave _him_ just as shaken from a conversation with her.

With the evidence of her inability to act splayed out before her every time Zelda gazed upon the light of day, and the knowledge that it was he who wrought such chaos, it was little wonder the Princess had grown desperate to return the blows in any way she could.

And determined not to play a losing hand, she readied her first shot to be fired.

 _Any minute now_ , she told herself patiently, counting the seconds to the click of her heels as she paced beside her doors, watching them with hawklike precision.

Three hours was all she had. If she missed her opportunity to return before a meal was brought up to an empty chamber, it would give the game away. The halls saw double the guards at night, and so this was her only opportunity—unable to time her waking and with only the first swap to start her count by, it was the best chance she would receive.

As she listened for the shift of metal greaves, Zelda ran over the course she would take to the royal archives, inspired by the paths she’d taken as a wayward child while avoiding the most boring of her tutors. She was unsure of the patrol routes between her tower and the destination in mind, but that fact simply couldn’t be helped, and the Princess had thought of several places to hide along the way if need be.

 _With any luck, it’ll be just the same as skipping arithmetic,_ she thought with a small smile, pausing as she heard some movement echo faintly through the stairwell. Slipping through the gap, she took a moment to steel herself at the top of the stairs, kicking off her heels and holding her skirts high. _Here we go…_

The Princess descended the flight quickly, padding silently around curving brick until she stood ready beside the iron doors; bars to her prison. Pointed ears twitched as they strained to hear, pleased as she found silence beyond, and cautiously Zelda moved to push one side open with only the slightest creak. Fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her dress, her heart racing as she drew up the courage to lean forward through the gap. Sending a wary glance down the corridor—to the left, to the right—finally, a maddened smile slowly crept its way across her icy lips with the desperate glee for freedom only captives could know.

Gone; nothing but torchlight dimly flickering against the walls as she dared to pass the threshold and step onto the red carpet runner she recalled, squeezing through the doors without hesitation to push them closed.

With another frantic scan of the hall, the Princess would duck with an awkward bound toward the darker side of the brickwork, haphazardly bunching up her skirts and working to tie them into a steady knot by her upper thigh. Pulling a ribbon from her brassier, it would be held between her teeth as she readied the fabric, twisting it in such a way as to keep while she moved before tying it securely in place for good measure.

One more paranoid glance, up the hall and back again in the direction she’d head, and without any sign of the new guards as yet, that was all the prompting Zelda needed.

She _ran._

Slender legs were swift, bare feet beating along the carpet like a drumroll as the world blurred around her with liberties forgotten and a speed even the Princess had come to doubt in herself. The dimly lit brickwork of her home flashed by with fleeting bursts of warmth where torches sat, the end of the hall coming to meet her with blood thumping in pointed ears. The floor simply moved beneath her in a way that was beautiful to her eye, the castle seeming to fluidly shift around her in a frantic lapse of order as—finally—she rounded the awful corner to leave that tower behind.

A feeling of exhilaration swept her each time her feet hit the ground, barely able to fathom it for so long spent locked away—not only within this occupation, but for the majority of her life. Bound up in restrictive movements labelled graceful, stifled and stilted to walk with decorum; trained to walk burdened by six books while straight backed as a lady should.

Zelda had not truly known such freedom since she was but a child, bolting away from her nursemaids or her lessons, and it came a shock as to how long ago that life suddenly seemed.

_How long ago since I have run like this…!_

The very thought split her mouth into a grin, panting breath staggered with silent laughter—she did not deny the fact, were she to let it slip, the guards would first think a mad woman had slipped into the castle from an asylum, rather than know it to be her.

They would likely not guess the agile streak of colour was her either, if she crossed one to bolt past and leave them blinking in bemusement.

Another corridor was claimed, and Zelda felt—in some small way—she had regained these little pieces of her castle as they were left in her wake, fingers clutching the knotted ball of her skirts as she moved. Suits of armour flew by as streaks of silver, saluting her as she went. Tapestries and crests carried the dusty smell she had known all her life, bringing her back to this place in spirit.

Flashes of bold reds and regal blues, ornately carved doors and the weapons of war veterans proudly displayed upon the walls and within glass cases. Portraits of her ancestors, framed to live on within silvers and golds, all proudly smiling down at her with hope as she went by. She was home again, away from the damask and dark chamber that had held her seemingly so far from the rest of this place.

Caught up in it all, carelessness threatened to get the best of her, the last corner conquered between herself and her destination to throw the Princess out into the open. She didn’t seem to register him at first, as bold and tall as the statues gracing her halls, but when he moved reality came crashing down upon Zelda’s reveries once more.

She came to such a forceful halt her feet burned to skid along the runner, nearly bunching it beneath to topple her as arms flew wide in panic, wavering to aid awkward balance upon her toes. Crystalline eyes were wide as she froze, like a field rabbit staring down the bolt of a crossbow. Lungs ached for the sudden lack of breath as she held it desperately, unwilling to make even the slightest of noise—the thing had its back to her as yet, iron greaves trudging slowly along with a metallic sound she knew all too well.

A frantic glance to the left eyed the nearest suit of armour to her, only a few feet away, before snapping back to the Iron Knuckle in her path. Timidly, the Princess would lean, taking a tentative first step toward it and overly cautious—they may be slow to see, but they were certainly not _deaf._

It was a small miracle the creature had not been alerted to her already, caught in some homesick daydream as she had allowed herself to be.

Cringing to suppress a squeak of unease, Zelda made haste, scurrying toward the shadow of the statue as if leaping back from a flame. The steel was cold against the nape of her neck as she all but collapsed to crouch there behind it, hugging trembling knees close to her chest with her back flush against metal plate. Unable to hold it any longer, a sharp exhale left her with a shudder, blown through pursed lips.

_Far too close. Far, far too close. Din sear it all, there would be somebody posted right outside the doors…!_

Willing herself to look, the Princess would nervously shift to peer past the statue’s leg, studying the beast from afar. Bulky lines boasted muscle the likes of which she knew only Ganondorf possessed besides, an imposingly large axe sheathed across his back to glint menacingly within the torchlight. A two handed weapon that could cleave horses in battle with ease as they rode, let alone her own slender flesh; rending bones like brittle twigs left out too long in the sun.

The beast’s helmet shifted, and odd though it was, he seemed to be staring up at a landscape of Eldin. It caught the Princess with some surprise to find such creatures capable of a taste for art—or perhaps, simply boredom. Then again, there was no evidence as to these things being without sentience, she supposed, and their roles as watchmen did stir her to wonder.

Perhaps they were not as closely tied to the darkness they served as she had previously thought?

But pushing aside such pondering, Zelda’s gaze shifted past the guard quickly. Just beyond him, pristine mahogany doors sat carved to bear the royal crest, betraying the grand archives nestled achingly close behind—she could very nearly catch a whiff of parchment from here, her goal was so close…

Shutting her eyes and moving back into her sitting position, she let slip and irritated sigh to pinch the bridge of her nose. The boot falls ceased, and it was clear this thing was simply idle, strolling about and biding its time while on duty. She felt certain this was the Iron Knuckle’s post.

Her mind turned quickly for a solution to her predicament as the Princess allowed her head to fall back and rest against the armour, heart sinking as she felt her opportunity slowly slipping away. A small flinch of discomfort came of it though, when something sharp dug into the back of her scalp, and as Zelda drew away from it to frown and rub the offended spot, an idea soon graced her.

A dagger hang at the hollow soldier’s side, small and ceremonial though it was.

With a blink, the Princess offered the weapon an incredulous squint, twisting to run her finger along the blade—blunt, as expected. Not that she had been foolish enough to truly consider fighting her way into the libraries, but at this point, anything was better than returning to her tower without the best effort made.

Another glance to the beast confirmed his distraction with the painting still, and with wisdom enough to aid her cleverness, slender fingers would wind around the dagger’s grip to slowly pull it free. Leaning to crawl, she stretched herself as close to the edge of the hall as she could without leaving the shadow, angling her aim around the corner. A few bobs of her hand to steady the course were taken slowly, a prayer sent with the blade is it was loosed from her fingers to skitter into the darkness from whence she came with an audible set of clanking.

Within the blink of an eye Zelda had reared back to pin herself up against the metal once again, cringing for the attention she knew it would draw—that it must draw—and hoping it would not be her undoing. She heard the grunt of surprise behind her, and the shifting of iron as it drew closer, a dangerous weight thumping down with every step.

_Just pass, Nayru’s mercy, just pass me by…_

Zelda watched the Iron Knuckle’s silhouette roll along the brick before her, and she would watch him turn to stride into the next corridor at last, keen to investigate the noise. He came so close she felt the breeze as his bulk passed by, crystalline eyes shut tight in hope. The guard was quicker in his pace, seemingly eager to find a highlight to his day, but again the Princess found little time to wonder of the true nature such beasts may hold as he disappeared behind brick.

It took most of her willpower to thaw herself from the frosty trepidation that stuck her there, but pushing herself up upon bare feet, she would launch herself from the statue’s side and tear toward the doors with abandon. She did not look back, barely opening her eyes enough to judge the distance travelled as her world focussed desperately upon the brass handles before her. Shaking hands shot to them before she had even stopped, her weight thrown forward as the latch came free and shimmying through the tiniest gap she had left herself yet.

Zelda spun quickly on her heel to slam palms against the other side of the wood, pushing them closed without fear for the darkness that greeted her and leaning against them as if to keep a demon out. Fingertips traced brass to find the locking bar, sliding it into place quickly and hoping the guard had not heard any of it from the hall beyond. The flurry of motion ceased as the Princess finally began to back away from the entrance, panting heavily now that she had room enough to breathe.

The air was musty on her tongue, tasting of history and ink and dust as the scent of parchment grew strong, no longer a phantom to taunt her. She turned slowly, only able to make out the shapes of the aisles and a grand staircase under the unlit frame of a chandelier. Marbled stone was cold beneath her toes only a moment before the familiar feel of carpet was returned to her. In the darkness she smiled, finally allowing the laughter to slip free with both disbelief and joy, her body still twitching with adrenaline.

She had done it.

In private celebration, the Princess twirled with arms outstretched, giggling with relief as her feet took her further onto the runner. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to simply collapse onto the plush leather of a reading chair, curling up in a world that felt safe and secure; echoing her childhood. How long she had spent here, whiling away the hours with the pages of fiction and fact alike… by memory, she had already taken toward a section, plucking the lantern from the side of the shelf and twisting the flint key to spark.

A dim orange glow soon filled the aisle warmly, illuminating with promise the spines of many titles—Zelda couldn’t help but indulge, running her fingers across the first few she could simply to affirm the reality of it. A greedy shiver washed through her to spread a smile across icy lips as she moved through them, eyeing off several tomes to gain some inspiration for where to start.

The Princess already knew most of what the archives offered on the Gerudo of the last era, and barring familiarity with their dialect, she knew there would be little more to find of them. As for history, she was as well versed as any scholar; more so, one might dare say. But she was aware of her grandfather’s censorship surrounding the civil war, and the Great Unification. While there were certainly things history had glossed over, here was not the place to find them.

Surely, for the time spent in her family’s court, there would be an autobiography of some description concerning the King of Thieves as he was known then?

But having wandered toward such a selection, Zelda found her hopes dashed. It struck her that much of the information about Ganondorf had been removed after his treasonous intentions were exposed—while once he may have garnered such an honour, having disgraced himself, it was unlikely her family would retain his memoirs in any form, if he had them.

Her father had himself been of the firm opinion that ‘a criminal is unworthy of royal ink’, and 'scribes are not employed to document the endeavours of scoundrels’.

How she cursed such short sightedness now.

Over the course of an hour, the Princess would pluck many tomes from the shelves, perusing each for any hint of her captor. Skimming through the pages, her enthusiasm had dwindled greatly, either turning up nothing or more of what she already knew. Footnotes, accounts, the very mention of his name would do, as long as it gave some clue as to unravel the man further.

While no sign of the Gerudo’s biography or a memoir could be traced, Zelda instead began to chase his presence in the stories of others—her forth great grandfather had once claimed in him a personal friend and advisor. Entire sections had been edited or erased, where the King of the West was concerned, and she noted especially that no detail of the drafted treaties between Hyrule and the Desert remained to be examined. While Zelda was very much aware of their failure, and much of the events surrounding such things, it did strike her as odd—perhaps even a little worrying—that such a vast chunk of history had been effectively wiped from record.

She thumbed through one volume of works set in the field of anthropology, studying the Gerudo culture in a time before the war—it made many mentions of the laws concerning Kings, and the belief structure surrounding their superstitions, but the only note of Ganondorf was to made made of him in infancy.

Zelda wandered along with those works in hand, gleaning what she could of his cultural customs in curiosity. She could certainly use a few of them to her advantage, if she were sly about it—she made a mental note of bearing one’s wrists as a sign of trust and a show of humility in particular. When she came across the rather sparse section on Gerudo marriages, however, her interest petered away once again; even this was of no real use to her, it seemed.

Snapping the tome shut with a sigh, she would negligently tuck it back improperly in a random shelf beside her, the sting of defeat nestling into her belly. In an old habit, she would lift her thumb to her mouth, chewing upon the nail with a pensive frown.

For one of the most infamous criminal in recent Hyrulian history, documents on the Gerudo King were almost as elusive as the drafts of an unknown playwright.

_One of the richest libraries this side of Holodrum, and hardly a footnote to be found… How is that even possible?_

Zelda’s attention wandered to the side of her, holding up the lantern to squint at as a few familiar title caught her eye. Sidetracked, it seemed she had ghosted a path she had taken often in younger years, guided by unconscious memory toward a small collection of romantic prose. Delicate brows furrowed as an old favourite seemed to suddenly appear, gold leaf script catching the camber of the light to shimmer.

Curious as to how far her tastes had grown, and perhaps a little nostalgic, the Princess would offer the book a fey and knowing smile.

“It’s been quite a long time since I saw you last, hasn’t it, old friend?” she whispered sardonically, amusing herself for the moment. “Is the duke still as handsome as ever?”

With a wry chuckle to herself, Zelda would pluck it lazily from its place, eyeing the worn red of the cover as she moved to set the lantern down upon a side table. Cradling it in the crook of her arm, the pages were flipped through carelessly, her attention finally settling on a random paragraph from the middle of the tale. An airless titter hummed in her throat for what she found.

_…Oh yes, I definitely spent far too much time on this garbage…_

It had been secreted away between the covers of far more important tomes to her development during adolescence, driving many tutors to distraction. It was not particularly well written, but whilst young and naïve, it was hard not to indulge in even the most mediocre tales when star crossed lovers and secret trysts were to be had. It certainly brightened many hours of studying, once the Princess had outgrown her ability to 'innocently’ abscond from such lessons.

Fantasies of a tall and handsome duke, dark eyes swirling with mystery, didn’t exactly go astray either.

But distracted as she was by the memory of such things, gaze skimming the words with leisure, the Princess did not register the feeling of being watched. With the light source beside her, there would be no shadow to warn.

Only the heavy pressure of corded muscle brought down upon her, taking her by surprise as the print became a blur, suddenly replaced by the wood of the side table as Zelda found herself pinned against it. A gasp hitched as the air was forced from her lungs, her shock and confusion mounting as the lantern was knocked aside to the floor, clattering to douse the light and limit her vision to an unforgiving black.

The novella that betrayed her fell uselessly through limp fingers as instinct beckoned she struggle, but within seconds, she found it futile—whatever beast had caught her here was as unmovable as a mountain, and she cursed herself for not being as vigilant of the Iron Knuckle since stirring his suspicions.

Unable to do more, the Princess would allow herself to cooperate within the hold, wincing as a large hand pressed down against the side of her head. From the corner of her eye she peered blindly past her shoulder, straining in the dark to see as she attempted to lift her cheek from the table even slightly.

That was when it rumbled low behind her—a dark chuckle that chilled her very blood to hear and sent crystalline eyes wide with panic.

“Out for a late night stroll, Princess?”

 _He_ was **_here._** He was here in the castle, and he had caught her _out of her tower_ red handed.

_Oh, Gods above, no…_

Squeezing her eyes shut, she cringed for not considering that possibility before. With his only interactions with her based solely through a mirror, Zelda had divorced herself from the idea that he was actually there in person. He styled himself a King before he was a conqueror, after all, and by any standard of protocol she knew to think of, there was no reason why she would not expect him to visit her in the flesh. It dawned on her too late that this, too, was perhaps just another means to isolate her.

In fact, he had never given her any evidence to his absence at all, though circumstance would suggest it.

Her whole body tensed as she felt him shift to draw closer, his breath warm on the back of her neck, and all at once Zelda felt overwhelmed by such a presence. Were she not pinned, she would surely have recoiled, simply to put as much distance between them as possible.

“Sneaking past my guards like that…” he clicked his tongue to chide, shaking his head lightly beside pointed ear. “I suppose you think yourself clever?”

Shifting uncomfortably beneath his forearm, the Princess would lick her lips, mustering up some of the courage she’d built up against him thus far—a difficult task, now that he was in the same room. More difficult still while he held her, quite literally, in the palm of his hand.

“N-not at all…” she started quietly, so as not to reveal the quiver of fear in her voice. “They’re as blind as keese. A drunken fool in the streets would have an equal chance of slipping by them.”

Such bravery in the face of certain punishment was an admirable effort on her part, but as the Gerudo shifted his weight again to double the pressure, regret was all the Princess would be rewarded with. Crushing down upon her back, Zelda gasped in pain at first, and then again when she noted a new struggle to breathe at all; ragged and desperate gulps taken as her panic heightened.

“Sarcasm is an unbecoming trait for a _prisoner.”_ the smirk he wore was audible as it curved around his words, amused in truth by such a remark—the last incarnation was not such a shrew, though he found the banter a refreshing change from her ancestor’s rhetoric.

Twisting thick fingers into her hair, the Gerudo relished the squeak of discomfort she made as his wrist flicked, pulling her head back in order to cut off any more smart remarks. He could hear her seething, sucking stilted breath through a clenched jaw as she struggled to hide her pain. Both were well aware that he could snap her feeble bones with a well times jerk of his hand, if he so chose, and still the woman chose to trade barbs. Her venom was not particularly potent, but even so, her gall surprised him.

 _Then again_ , he conceded privately, _even tame creatures are known to bite when cornered._

Zelda did not fall for the rise. Glaring up from the corner of her eye, she found the bitter silence a more commanding expression than anything else she presently had to offer.

A scoff sounded by her ear, unimpressed, and when Ganondorf spoke again, none of his previous amusement showed. “But I will take the… constructive criticism on board. I will _personally_ see to it that the rather egregious oversights in security are remedied immediately. Now…” he paused, bearing his teeth to hiss into her ear with a far more sinister timbre. “What _exactly_ do you think it is you’re doing so far from your tower?”

A growl crept across the tail end of it, demanding the correct answer, and the Princess did not miss it.

Biting the inside of her cheek as the first spell of dizziness began to take hold, she knew she couldn’t tell him the truth—just because he wished to torment her with the sight of her fallen Kingdom, didn’t mean he could not find a way to do that while she lay chained within a dungeon. Zelda’s mind raced as her lungs began to burn, desperate to find a suitable reason and without any time to think of one.

Either she was going to suffocate beneath his bulk, or her spine was going to give way.

“R-reading… material…” she managed with a ragged gasp, her voice now unable to hide the strain of her position. “I’ve… f-finished all of the… books in my chambers, I-” a painful cough, “-have nothing m-more to… occupy myself.. with…!”

A grunt behind her signalled his disbelief, and she knew it was flimsy at best. Incredulous, the Gerudo would sneer in the corner of her vision. “You honestly expect me to believe you’ve gone to such length, all for something to read…?”

Cruelly, he increased the pressure even further, and a pained cry tore away from her throat as Zelda felt her shoulder pop with a sickening crack. She wasn’t even sure how her body was managing to hold up under this kind of brutality, but as the man seethed through clenched teeth, through the haze she felt his grip twist forcefully into her hair.

“ _Do not **lie** to me!_ ” there was the thunder of the storm again, riding low to shake her bones.

But Wisdom worked quickly to aid her, and the hoarse whisper left her lips before she could stop herself, utilising the only trump card she had to lend herself credibility.

“N-no, please…!” she cried out despairingly now, uncaring of how it may sound. “D-down, look down! The book I wa-as read…ing…!” the very last of the air in her left her lips with the plea, and silently she prayed that he would look. Even a moment’s mercy in distraction to gulp down another breath was all she could think of now.

Still suspicious of her claims, the Gerudo’s features would knit quickly into a fearsome scowl, irritated that she would think him foolish enough to buy such drivel at first. But then, as he took stock of her position and the sheer terror now unveiled in her voice, his curiosity caught him to humour her. Golden eyes narrowed, his gaze slowly dropping toward the ground in search of the book, easily spotting despite the darkness. His night vision was clearly far superior to hers, a moment of concentration revealing the title as he brought it closer with the tip of his boot.

The scowl lessened into bemusement when indeed it was nothing of concern—romantic fiction, in fact, judging by a cursory scan of open pages. To Zelda’s great relief, his weight shifted enough to afford her the ability to breathe once more, though it was out of no mercy on his part. Caught off guard and distracted, Ganondorf had moved to pluck the novel up from the ground, now casually leaning upon her back rather than anything as he studied the book further.

“…She shivered under his touch, as the moonlight caught upon the chiselled frame he bore… sending shocks of desire through her as she moaned… his name…” trailing off, clearly unimpressed with her choices in literature, the Gerudo would end on a tight lipped grimace to eye her rather quizzically.

She must’ve been utterly daft to waste such an opportunity on trash like this.

“…Perhaps you truly have been cooped up for too long, alone.” he conceded quietly, musing more to himself with a dismissive frown and snapping the offensive thing shut.

Though the Princess hoped the dark would hide it, a violent blush had taken place upon her cheeks—the tale was hardly tasteful enough for bedside drawers, let alone being read aloud for her added shame. Still, it seemed he had accepted her excuse for the moment… albeit with newly formed misconceptions.

Golden eyes swept her again, his mind still reeling to accept the absurdity of it—he surmised however that, even were this the unlikely truth, a moment of lucidity would’ve caught her soon enough. There were far more worrying things to find her reading within the vast wealth of knowledge these archives contained. No harm had been done as yet; simply a close call that would not be allowed for again.

Finally, after what felt like a small eternity of agony, the Gerudo’s arm would shift to release her. Bereft of the strength to stand, the Princess sank instead to her knees, slipping from the table to hold her hand to her chest and pant. She could feel him watching her every move in the darkness, and without the courage to speak further, Zelda chose instead to hide her face from such scrutiny.

He had gleaned more than enough weakness from her already, she simply refused to face him—not with the pallid expression of fear currently etched into her features.

A resounding click echoed out into the air behind her; snapping fingers the only warning before the prickle of magic swept her skin. The calm was broken by a sudden roar like a whirlwind, casting the room into a blurry haze as it began to strip away, piece by piece. Shutting her eyes to the eerie vision of the world disintegrating before her, dizziness came flooding back, her bearings lost to the sound and sensation as nausea stirred in her stomach.

Then all at once the silence returned, and she grew aware of stable ground beneath her knees. Lashes fluttered open to adjust to brighter surrounds, the scent of parchment stolen to be replaced with dank brickwork and an icy chill. She needn’t even look around to recognise it, realising she had been returned to the tower.

The heavy sound of a boot stepping forward behind her drew a small flinch before a negligent toss cast the novel into her vision, skidding to a halt before her as its pages settled open.

“Keep the spoils of your effort.” he rumbled richly with a wave of his hand, apathetic as to its contents. “Rest assured, I will not be disturbing you this evening, so feel free to enjoy your… _simple pleasures_.”

Even as he moved to leave, the heat returned to her cheeks with a vengeance as Zelda gladly counted the steps taken toward her doors. “Thank you.” was all she managed in response, hastily slipping from her lips as a small squeak.

Inclining her head to watch him leave, the Princess would see him pause to rest a hand upon the handle, not bothering to look back as he addressed her once more.

“I suggest you take your time.” he offered calmly, a slight accent swimming in the quiet tone. “Because the next sojourn you take to find reading material, Princess, will see you returned here without _feet.”_

Barely able to hold it in before the latch of her doors clicked to close, shoulders slumped to release a shaken sigh as a shudder rolled freely from her abused spine. The dull ache in her shoulder would cost her the good night’s rest she sorely needed after this ordeal, but glancing toward the novel, Zelda’s hand shot out to snatch it up greedily. As if the familiarity she held would provide comfort, she clutched it gratefully to her chest, silently grateful for the find now that it had saved her an otherwise severe punishment.

Never in all her days had the Princess suspected her fate would ride on some worn out romantic fiction.

But with a mind still racing and a heart fast pumping in her chest, the notion brought an awful epiphany to the forefront of her thoughts…

Perhaps the fate of Hyrule could be swayed by such a thing as well.


	4. Table for Two

It was nearing the end of the Princess’ seventh week in solitary confinement, and true to his word, Ganondorf had seen security tightened to a standard even the royal military would flounder to keep.

His residence within the castle had prompted those serving under him into paranoid alertness, wary of their master’s watchful eye and penchant for death. From her window, Zelda had spied new beasts wandering the parapets below—archers and sentries placed at strategic points throughout the castle grounds, doubling the numbers she had seen before.

The guards stationed at her doors did not move from their posts until they were met and relieved by those taking the next shift, eliminating the already slim window she had used to slip by them twice before. No longer did she hear the idle chatter of monsters emerge to fill the hours standing, and through the crack in the lower egress, Zelda noticed they now stood with weapons drawn; ready at every moment. Extra patrol routes had been added to her floor as well, the foreign hiss of reptilian growls echoing up her stairwell at night to cause her great concern as to what _unholy demons_ he had apparently ordered to stalk the halls.

His threat grew empty against such nightmarish mysteries—lost feet seemed a paltry punishment against the horrors she imagined could befall her, caught at the mercy of such creatures.

As if that thought alone wasn’t discouragement enough, much to Zelda’s chagrin, the Gerudo now appeared in her mirror _daily._

Bitter and terse as such visitations were to begin with after the incident in the library, Zelda remained quiet with him the first few days. She wore a cautious calm before him, hiding the remnant anxiety; a part of her genuinely fearful that he could reach through the glass itself at any moment. The Princess knew not how to be meek, but her life had tempered a deep patience that she utilised well. Biting her tongue, his hateful sneers and darkened glares disappeared soundlessly into her depths, absorbed by a porcelain visage that commanded royal stoicism with ease.

Her polite disagreements with him offered little to fan the flames of his ire, and the thoughtful responses she schooled her tongue to give slowly began to smother her enemy’s flashes of temper. For his insults, she chose simply to accept them, knowing no true gratification could be gleaned if the poison he spat did not afflict her visibly. His wit stung sharp to prickle, but the Princess expected it of him now, and slowly learned to hide her flinch.

She grew more skilled at deflecting him as the days rolled on, and by the eighth time his golden gaze affixed hers from behind glass, a simple conversation was all either held the energy to muster.

A composed sense of civility had reigned between them since.

Inspired by their first true encounter over a book—and not without jest on his part for her choice—their discussions soon turned to the written word, a neutral and common ground established over literature. His knowledge of Hyrulian history was also quite extensive, as was hers, though Zelda credited this in part to the man’s personal involvement in the notable turns of recent eras. Each could spout and correct in each other a plethora of folklore, hypothesising over the origins and where the truth began to blur into fiction.

What impressed her most, however, was perhaps the Gerudo’s unlikely knowledge of the arts—able to rattle off the names of artisans and painters, alongside deconstructions of their most influential works, with a speed and passion Zelda could only respect.

Set against the tiresome and lonely quiet of previous days, the Princess found herself enjoying the frequent discourse with her enemy, appreciative if only by contrast.

Where once the idea brought to her by the pilfered novella seemed a distant and vague thing, now it had sharpened into something focussed and potentially attainable, for she could sense that—in some small measure—Ganondorf had begun to enjoy _her_ company as well.

It was a dire risk to travel so far out on a limb, but today, Zelda intended to test her weight upon it, praying that it wouldn’t give way beneath her. Amidst the conversation, as the decline of Hyrule’s field rabbits in the last century was discussed between them, she allowed her complaint to slip.

“Say what you like of Hylian tastes, Ganondorf. At this point, I confess, the addition of spices is the very last thing on my mind when thinking of roasted meat.”

Weathered features would knit together to darken his frown, an incredulous glare flashed her way as he seemed to weigh some distant memory. For a moment, Zelda could’ve sworn he’d immediately dismissed such a statement from her, apparently clashing with a preconceived expectation as it did. The Gerudo leaned back behind the surface of the mirror, folding the bulk of his arms over his chest plate as golden eyes narrowed.

The lightest wag of his bearded jaw betrayed a question in his mind, added to by the slight arch of a brow. “I can recall many Lords who would’ve disagreed with you on their importance, Princess…” he offered slowly, cautious in his choice of words. “Or is an unseasoned meal suddenly fit enough for the royal palette, now that you’ve been stripped of such luxuries?”

An extremely personalised insult wavered hidden in his tone, but Zelda could only guess as to where its origin lay—by his own acknowledgement not minutes before, the Gerudo had never even tasted rabbit. But then, the sliver of pride in his voice while he made such a proclamation suddenly gained subtle meaning. There were many grudges carried over from the last era, most of them small and private things that she noticed seemed synonymous with his time in her forefather’s court… this was likely just another bitter memory of his taken out upon her.

She offered a small and enduring smile, holding it for a moment so as to diffuse him. Gloved hands clasped tightly upon her lap all the while, thankfully hidden by the desk.

“I think you understand better than anyone how such things can be taken for granted,” she returned calmly, “But I was only intending to make a point of necessity. Indeed, to receive even plainly boiled would seem a luxury now, taken against the gruel you force upon me.”

“I suppose you would rather go without it, then?” he gave it sneeringly at first, but within a moment the threat wavered. The corner of his mouth perked up in hint of that cruel smirk he wore best. “I would warn you, Princess, a hunger strike for better food—while amusing in its irony—is an ill advised thought in your current position.”

With a chuckle has he glanced her pale and, to his mind, far too slender form, he would snidely add, “You look sickly enough as is without the added strain of starvation.”

Without missing a beat, crystalline eyes were levelled toward him in a pointed stare. “Which, of course, is likely due to the exclusion of _meat_ in my current _diet.”_

Fiery brows would twitch with irritation as her tone forced the smirk to recede. Though she had expected him to be defensive, the Gerudo simply inclined his head to offer an indifferent roll of his shoulders. His scowl had returned, though amusement still haunted his timbre.

“All jokes aside, I fail to see how your health should be any concern of _mine._ You already receive what _necessity_ entitles you to.”

Zelda’s nose crinkled some for the way he always managed to throw her words back at her, growing tired of such a habit now. It was true that she could survive on the rations he allowed for some time, albeit weaker and prone to ailing conditions. She knew Ganondorf was aware of her own magical prowess, particularly gifted in spells to heal—both knew there was no true risk posed by a deathly illness unless she neglected such self care, allowing it to consume her fully and drain the energy needed to heal. Even were the day to come when suicidal tendencies struck her, the Gerudo was more than capable of intervening himself.

Satin gloved hands clasped tighter in frustration, for she knew she could not bluff him in regards to her surviving such poor conditions.

_An appeal to his vanity, then._

“You’ve made it quite clear that I am a prisoner of war, though I have been cordial with you of my own will…” Zelda allowed a slow and seemingly thoughtful blink to pass, delicate brows furrowed ever so slightly. “I have always held the sentiment that much can be said for how a King treats his prisoners, especially as I’ve given you little reason to be particularly unkind.”

“Indeed it can, insofar as he wishes to be respected or praised for such _benevolence.”_ the Gerudo scoffed humorously, a wry half smile betraying the sharp bite of his canines. “But I am a ruler who requires fear. My treatment of the traitors who would stand against me was never intended to send a positive message. The status you hold, Princess, and your surrender are the only things that have earned you such clemency as to be fed at all.”

Unable to hide it, Zelda would release a small and controlled sigh, lowering her chin to stare at her hands—if her grip tightened any further now, she would leave her fingers tingling. It was hard to imagine how garnering his affections would sway him at this point, resolute in his decisions as he seemed to be. Ganondorf was not a man easily manipulated, to be sure, but stubbornly she pressed on.

Suppressing a grimace, a terse click of the tongue was given to sharpen her words. “I was under the impression my usefulness to you had not yet run its course?”

“Your usefulness to _me,_ Princess, remains to be _seen.”_ A firm glare would cement his statement in place, the bitter flash of his eyes willing her to back down. “It is the use my enemies could make of you, free, that keeps you a ‘prisoner of war’… and make no mistake, I am _very well aware_ of the aid you would offer them.”

A dangerous silence fell between them then, thickened by the weight of his expression—an innately evil thing to behold, the lines of his face etched in malice enough that Zelda feared the glass may shatter. Though she tried in earnest to hold her gaze, instinct drew it fluttering away and to the side. Fear trailed its way down her spine again, threatening to break her courageous facade with a tell tale shiver as her arms moved to cross in front of her stomach, forming a fragile barrier behind the desk.

Whetting her lips hesitantly, the Princess forced her gaze to rise enough to settle upon his chin—a great effort simply to go that far. A silent and steadying breath was drawn slowly, and humbling her tone, Zelda found it strangely easy to feign slight embarrassment.

“…Then I have only my company to offer _you.”_ she conceded, fixing the furrow of her brow to suggest hidden hurt. “If you must humiliate me, then I am exposed. In truth, I simply wished to dine with you… I will not trouble you any further with it, now that you’ve made your stance quite clear.” A saddened smile rested dull across her lips, cynical for good measure.

It was her last resort to try and guilt the Gerudo into anything; a man immune to his own conscience was not likely to empathise with a prisoner’s loneliness. But then, he was one of very few who could truly appreciate the bitter ache of long haul solitude, divorced from the realm he once knew to be imprisoned within another. Perhaps it was his pity, rather, that she reached to pull upon.

That too, Zelda understood, was near impossible to achieve.

But when he faltered for response, crystalline eyes grew braver, daring to trace his visage once more only to find it stuck in slimly veiled surprise. One crimson brow drifted upwards in silent question, though golden eyes soon narrowed again into a hint of disbelief, scrutinising every inch of her for any signs of treachery. The Princess held only a trace of disappointment visible, willing it to seem genuine as she allowed her shoulders to relax. She watched as he shifted forward, creeping closer behind the glass to peer at her as a grimace spread thin upon his mouth.

Suspicion rolled off of him in waves, though the pensive rap of thick fingers across a bicep betrayed the intrigue she had hoped for.

“That is a uniquely weak willed proposition…” he finally growled, only just rising above a whisper as his gaze sought to trap hers in place. “…for one who so tenaciously clutches to her pride.”

It was difficult to find her voice while he looked at her like that; the golden crucible of his eyes seeming to see right down into the bottom of her. Zelda swallowed lightly as her throat seemed to hitch, but with trembling palms firmly pressed to each elbow, she managed to form the illusion of composure.

Thinking her prideful was far better than fearful.

“It is not something easily set aside, no…” she mused honestly, quiet to avoid the cracking of her tone.

His expression remained unchanged, expectant of an explanation—demanding of one, rather—and the Princess decided that only well timed truth would pass. Surely, he would spot her in a lie if she faltered.

“…and I will admit, such a request is partly born of the desire for better quality meals. But also of interaction, and to break the tedium of routine. If you would indulge me, Ganondorf, you must know I am not a solitary creature at heart.” Flicking a glance to her surrounds, she would wave limply to the rest of the chamber as she shook her head. “I understand a prisoner is not meant to be fond of their cell, but our conversations each day have become the reprieve that makes it bearable. In all honesty, I wake now in wait of them.”

If the Gerudo was moved by her confession in any way, he did not show it in the slightest. The irritable expression he wore had dimmed as she spoke, settling into an unreadable and pensive stare.

She guessed that her wording had struck the cord she aimed for, as he now seemed to be considering them carefully—Zelda could only hope he was not deciding upon a weakness, and thinking on how to isolate her further while still under supervision.

Slowly then, Ganondorf settled back to lean in his seat, firm muscle relaxing into a casual posture once again. It held an air of haughtiness that the Princess disliked, but as the man in her mirror unfurled a hand to toy thoughtfully with his beard, her hopefulness returned. His attention wandered upwards in vague glances, his head lazily tilted, and in that moment he reminded her of a lounging cat who considered his choice between fish and lamb.

With one final stroke of his chin, thick fingers stilled and his gaze snapped back to her sharply.

“If you were in my presence, I suppose I could put my men to more fitting tasks…” he did not concede much, but the corner of his lips flirted heavenward and Zelda knew she had her way. One fiery brow remained arched as the Gerudo concealed his sudden urge to grin. “ _You wish to dine with me._ ” he repeated then with a chuckle, shaking his head with amusement.

With baited breath, the Princess stared unblinkingly at the glass, silently urging him to give the answer she wanted to hear.

Broad shoulders rolled where he sat, a half hearted shrug tailored toward indifference, but finally, a dismissive flick of his hand would reveal it.

“Very well, Princess. I will… _indulge_ you.”

Zelda did not bother to hide the sigh of relief torn from her, her head dipping forward so as to diminish the smile it brought—cunning, happy little curve that it was.

“However…” the rumble broke to see her small victory falter as the Gerudo watched her smugly, taking to a bored lean against his fist. “If I were to set some of the guards to other tasks, certain halls would—of course—be temptingly free for you to sprint down, if you chose to be so bold. Would they not?”

“If I chose to be _foolish,_ you mean?” Zelda straightened, forcibly ridding herself of any hint to conspiracy as she did her best not to look quietly offended—how little credit he gave. Icy lips pursed to aid the subtlety of her glare. “I do not repeat my mistakes, Ganondorf, of that I can assure you.”

The devilish grin spread beyond his control then, condescending and full of secrets. “Perhaps, but _accidents_ are often unforeseen. Say you should happen to _accidentally_ wander away from my side; a painting has caught your eye, or even a cutlass mounted upon the wall, and distracted by it you forget yourself…” narrowing his gaze into an almost playful and fleeting squint, he allowed the pause to linger suggestively.

“A mounted cutlass would hardly be an apt choice of weapon, were I planning to be treacherous.” she spat tersely, lips drawing thin.

“…Careless, then.” he cut her short there— _precise and punctual ploys under the guise of carelessness, at least._

As Zelda’s visage gained a quizzical frown, Ganondorf’s grew darkly coy, offering false concern to mock her. It was a silently knowing thing, like a parent abiding a child’s white lie and playing fool to it, only to see what the youth may do to deceive further.

“Those displays are quite sharp. If one isn’t careful, they might stand to lose a _finger_ or two…” the feigned furrow of his brow could not be held for long, swiftly replaced by the debauched and sneering grin—one that thirsted as ever for blood spilt. “Better to keep you out of harm’s way all together, I would think. You haven’t faired so well in fortunes of late, after all.”

The Princess did not care for thinly veiled threats, but she weathered the insinuation to replace rolling eyes by plucking a stray hair from her cloak. She dodged the subject of punishments curtly, flicking him a heavy lidded glance.

“Tonight, then?”

He was not disappointed by her response, quick and to the point as it was. Ever practical, he supposed, but he was satisfied on the terms thus far. Left only with the option of assuming she would hold to her best behaviour—if not privately eager to see if the woman would act with haste on some ill-gotten opportunity—Ganondorf’s features settled back into the more usual smirk she knew.

His chin shifted to rest within his palm, a finger crossing the corner of his mouth, and he offered a satisfied nod in turn. “Very well. I will send for you when night falls… and provide appropriate attire.”

Zelda’s gut twisted at that thought, sudden paranoia taking hold as to what he may force her to wear, though outwardly she gave a pleasant grin.

“I look forward to it.”

The Gerudo’s smirk was bordering on feral as his image finally began to fade, the reflection shimmering across the glass until the Princess was faced with herself once more. The instant she was sure of his absence, her smile had disappeared as well. She had one real chance at this, and there was far more at stake than her health if she failed to appeal.

In the following hours, Zelda would prepare herself to dine not with an evil King, but as she would with a suitor—grooming for both mind and body to seem their best.

Bare feet were nearly numb from the cold of her floor as she paced for much of that time, simply thinking over the various scenarios that may befall her. Wisdom offered strategy to calm raw nerves, paranoia and distrust on high as she considered being alone with the man; to share the same table with him willingly was still somewhat difficult for her to imagine. Even so, it was two birds with one stone—Zelda would have her fill of a proper meal, perhaps even regain some semblance of dignity within herself, all whilst in a prime position to inspect and sway the Gerudo as planned.

Her imagination ran wild with visions of the worst that could come of this, and having finally forced herself to sit and settle at the edge of her bed, the Princess tried in earnest to be rid such thoughts. Still, the fact of the matter was she had little idea on how to flirt or solicit romantic attention, and she had yet to dine without the company of many and the supervision of courtiers to act as a buffer between herself and potential suitors.

She had already dismissed the idea that Ganondorf could be distracted away from the Twili and her heroic charge by conversation alone. If things did indeed go to plan, more and more would be required of her to keep him charmed, and that was only if she managed to capture the Gerudo’s affections at all…

Affections, however, seemed a stretch for him. Possessiveness, more likely, or obsession—he regarded her a trophy, and so she would polish herself until her shine caught his eye and held it firmly.

Zelda was modest in nature, though she had been told countless times of the beauty inherited from her mother. The admiration of a female specimen without affection was, to her mind, a very risky business—jealousy, secrecy and lustfulness ruled such a realm, if she were to believe the various romance novels of her youth or the scandals of courtiers and their illegitimate sons.

One of those novels, having started all this, now rested upon her lap as she awaited the knock, open to her and perused for any hint as to how she may act. It was quickly becoming a sort of manual to her inexperience, secretly teaching her the art of a coy smile and the seductive powers held within a heavy lidded side glance. A fleeting brush of one’s nails against the back of a man’s hand to show fondness. The hidden kiss at the very corner of a woman’s mouth as she laughed, flashed boldly before disappearing, and how a man could lose himself in the search to discover it again.

Zelda gleaned a small arsenal of gestures, all designed to trick a man’s senses and lure them in close, but the chase could only last so long. Soon enough, the Gerudo would start reaching out to catch his tempting prize, and no amount of demure withdrawal could counter that forever.

Ganondorf did not seem the type to be patient when denied what he wanted.

The longer the Hero took, the more this rouse would require of her to pass… if it passed at all.

Heavy steps began to reach her ears as they echoed from the stairwell, and out of time and options, Zelda stood with a sigh to set the faithful novel aside. She had already started toward her doors when the jarring knock came; a beast’s large fist carelessly bashed against the iron.

The sight of the beastly Iron Knuckle standing there gave her pause when she opened them, and the Princess wondered if she would ever become accustomed to the fact that every occupant in her castle now dwarfed her completely. Ganondorf himself stood taller than any man she had known—from what she had seen of him in the flesh—but his monstrous entourage, likewise, served to leave her small and frail beside them, akin to a dormouse skittering amongst cats. Another subtle tactic of intimidation, she supposed, but undeniably effective as trembling hands slipped from iron handles.

Standing stiffly before her, the beast offered only a hint of guttural speech before he thrust a dress forward, waiting for Zelda to take the garment from its place upon his arm. Crystalline eyes lowered toward it, her brows furrowed as she hesitantly took fingers to the fabric—excellent quality it was, too, and softer than she knew such material to be. Holding it up for her own inspection, both she and the beast seemed to silently appraise the dress provided, and Ganondorf’s eye for detail did not go unmissed.

A rich maroon in colour, trimmed by gold hems and embroidered with finer stitching than any royal tailor’s hand… it was not unlike her usual regalia in styling, long sleeved and simple in its elegance. The Iron Knuckle grunted thoughtfully with a tilt of his head, making his approval known, though more for its own sake than Zelda’s—forcing a roll of her eyes before the creature, she swallowed her own appreciation to glare.

“Cliché.” She spat quietly, a disapproving click of her tongue given as she turned quickly on her heel. “And such a dark colour does my complexion no favours.”

The armoured beast seemed to consider her words for a moment, unaffected by the dismissive tones she took, and shrugged broad shoulders lazily as if there were nothing to be done—indeed, this was what the Master had chosen, and it was that or have her go naked. As Zelda laid out her attire on the bed, she saw no movement in the corner of her vision. With a sigh, she sent the creature another frown. It was a strange thought to wonder if his kind were capable of perverse thought, but she had little intention to disrobe in front of it, either way.

“Do you mind?”

Apparently it didn’t; a tilt of its helmet betraying bemusement as it continued to stand there.

Unable to think of anything more, the Princess would wave her hand at the beast. “Shoo.”

With a vacant glance toward its greaves, the Iron Knuckle adopted what could only be described as an awkward shuffle backward, retreating behind the threshold of her doors. Unfortunately, that was the extent of its movements, as it made no effort to close them or even have the decency to turn around.

 _Oh, Din sear it all_ , the Princess chided internally, _I can see why these ones are posted to **guard** duty._

“When a lady is indecent, a gentleman _averts_ their gaze!” she chastised quickly, razing the poor beast with the cut of her frown. With a small huff of indignity and a few resolute strides, her doors were slammed as forcefully as she could manage, leaving the odd creature to flinch.

Blinking away the last of its surprise—but not the slightest bit of its confusion—the Iron knuckle resigned itself to waiting for the Princess to emerge once again. Not often finding itself in this wing of the castle, the beast had been curious as to what their captive might be like, if not somewhat excited to see a live Hylian woman up close and personal. He had seen the men before, and even fought a few swordsmen of note in his time, but never had he gotten the chance to interact with a female of their kin.

Perhaps he had been fortunate in that. The Master seemed entertained by her, at least, so for the moment the creature assumed she would be far sweeter—like the stories he’d heard—toward a human.

He second guessed that the moment the doors reopened to reveal the scowling Princess, defiling the beautiful dress she now wore with her sour visage. Enduring the bitter leer Zelda offered, the creature—despite his bulk—did its best not to shrink back from her entirely, and unsure, offered a tentative arm in order to escort her. He hoped this would be more in keeping with a gentleman, quickly deciding not to stir her ire further.

Why else would the Master lock her away, if Zelda was not a danger?

At this, the Princess’ expression soften as she let loose a sigh, though her indignation stayed visibly upon her features for the dress she’d been forced to wear. Much like the Iron Knuckle had suggested before, a dull resignation coloured her eyes for the fact that this could not be helped, and resentful of her situation, allowed herself to take to the beast’s side. Never in her wildest dreams had Zelda expected to be lead around her own home on the arm of a monster, but the quieter part of her mind beckoned gratitude; better to be entwined with armoured elbow than in chains.

Even as they began to descend the stairs, she could hardly keep herself from picking at the dress, watching the graceful sway of the hem as it flowed about her ankles. She knew the Gerudo had assigned magic to its design, tailored only for her, and likely crafted it himself through such means. Indeed, it fit her perfectly, hugging every curve with a discreet sense of respectfulness. The neckline was bold yet tasteful, accentuating the curve of her breast whilst avoiding an overly suggestible cleavage, showing off her slender neck and shoulders. It was as comfortable as it was flattering, easy about the waist and allowing her to breathe; she hated it as much as she adored it, though Zelda was hard pressed to admit this to herself.

The dilemma very nearly threatened to set a twitch to her eye.

 _Taunting me with a lack of choice, only to present something I myself might have chosen…_ her mind hissed bitterly as she walked through the halls, venting her frustration internally, _I won’t allow him the satisfaction of sitting smug._ _These mind games of his will see little reward._

Even so, Zelda had a game of her own to play, and ultimately, her attire would only serve to help her for the flattering silhouette it gave. Men were malleable before the charm of a woman’s beauty, and in the subtle art of seduction, this dress could only prove an asset to her. The Gerudo had played into her hand far too coolly for the Princess’ liking however, almost daring her to make her move as if he had already caught onto her gambit, boastful for the fact he would not be swayed by mere looks alone.

Predictable though he may have been, she conceded, Ganondorf was certainly far more clever than the nobility she had previously known… Surely, in more peaceful times, the man had seen at least one or two attempts to be seduced for a share of his power.

But, perhaps her lack of experience in matters of courtship may yet leave her the element of surprise.

By the time the odd pair had neared their destination, the Iron Knuckle had come to a few conclusions of his own, watching the shifting expressions play out quietly upon the Princess’ face and trying to figure her out in turn. The inner musings of Zelda’s head were a mystery to this poor creature, each minute bringing a new flash of strangeness to her form as he studied her, and unbeknownst to the royal, deemed her more and more unstable. There was a mad glint in her eye like the kind a wolfos held when cornered and separated from its kin, and her mouth ticked to the twitching of fingers in the way they often did before an outburst.

Not knowing what to make of this woman, he was more than a little uncomfortable when they stopped before the dining hall, relieved for the chance to get as far away from her as possible. Not daring to take his gaze from her, the worried beast backed slowly away before gesturing with a slight bow toward the archway, indicating that she was to take her seat at the grand table to be seen from where they stood.

Zelda offered only a curt nod, plucking up her skirts and failing to notice the oddly swift retreat her escort made behind her. Her steps echoed lightly within the vastness of the chamber, but only a few steps in, she noticed the silence it betrayed. The table was set, that she could see—candelabras freshly lit to set the silver shimmering—but nobody sat there to await her.

Almost paranoid, the Princess frowned to scan her surrounds, uneased for her captor’s absence. The dining hall itself was bespoke marble, adorned still by tapestries and tenderly painted landscapes, graced by the light of high windows by day and an ornate pair of chandeliers in the evening. A slight swell of relief took her for the familiarity, grateful that it had not been changed since last she set foot here, fearing that such rooms may have even been destroyed during the siege.

Wandering closer to one of the arching windows, Zelda let her hand sweep red curtain further aside, gazing over the eastern portion of her castle fondly—grey skies and yellow clouds still covered it. In truth, she had little idea what state her castle had been in until now, though from the looks of it, structural damage had been thankfully minimal. The violence of the storms she’d seen in earlier days had done little to disturb it either, aside from the odd roofing tile or window.

Turning back toward the long table with a light click of heels, she wondered briefly of Ganondorf’s absence, crystalline eyes turning to the ornate chair at its head—reserved for Kings, she knew, as her father had sat there many times before. The Gerudo would not allow her such a place, but perhaps it sat unoccupied to trap her, inviting her rebellion while he waited in the wings to pounce upon such defiance.

_How little credit does the man give me?_

With another sigh, she allowed the rhythmic click of her shoes to carry her toward the seat adjacent—she wasn’t so foolish as to fall for his trickery, but she would not be lowered so much as to be denied the rightful place she had always taken at her father’s side.

She would stomach the close proximity it left them.

Smoothing out her dress, she sat patiently to spite him, folding her hands in her lap and hiding the nervous squeeze of her fingers. Ganondorf’s tardiness was grating on her nerves, she realised as she began to chew the inside of her cheek. He didn’t strike her as the sort to disregard punctuality, and the clockwork precision his army moved with was more than enough evidence to the contrary. Lonely though she may have been, it wasn’t that she pined for his presence, but Zelda knew that he would only be late if something more pressing had arisen—he would not risk leaving her unattended without good cause.

After a few minutes, the Princess had stopped bothering to hide her concern, running through the motions of being stood up. Idly toying with a fork at first, she had cycled through leaning an elbow on the hard word and drumming her fingers impatiently, before simply fidgeting to eye the entrance with the intensity of a hawk. Not even the shadow of a monster had been seen since her escort left her; no messenger, no guards. She knew better than to look for them, knowing she was in to lose a finger—at the very least—were she to wander in search of the Gerudo, or even try to return to her tower.

More than that, Zelda worried for the Hero. She could only pray that whatever it was that kept her captor so long had nothing to do with Link’s welfare, though this was doubtful. If Ganondorf’s attention was not upon her, it was most surely centred on her allies, and that thought alone was enough to have her heart sinking.

Unable to stand it any longer, she stood abruptly to let her chair scrape against the stone.

“This is ridiculous!” she hissed to herself, glaring at her reflection in the silverware, “I will not sit here and have that bastard ignore me!”

“If only I _could_ ignore you, Zelda, my life would be infinitely easier.” the deep tone resounded effortlessly in the echoing hall, drawing her gaze to seek its source with a flinch. “Still, I’m surprised to find you so bitter… After all, it is common custom among Hylian nobility to be ‘fashionably late’, as it were.”

It took her a moment to pinpoint him, but as the Gerudo spoke again, Zelda spotted him in the small archway of a vestibule. He leaned against the frame smugly, arms folded over his chest with a dark smirk plastered on his face—an expression she hardly ever saw him without, it seemed. Grimacing, the Princess placed her palms to the wood, narrowing her eyes at him slowly.

“It is never fashionable to be _rude.”_ she scolded bluntly, holding a cold look of disapproval even as she lowered back into her seat.

“Then perhaps you should refrain from calling your host a _bastard,_ in future.” he returned evenly, arching a fiery brow for good measure—her silence after that pleased him, for he knew she held her tongue between her teeth. Accurate though it may have been, and in more ways than one, he would not be letting such a nickname slip if Zelda was so bold as to use it again.

Uncrossing his arms, the Gerudo would begin to make his way into the hall with a slow gait, amusement playing lightly upon his features as he studied her.

“Even so, I suppose your patience should be commended.” He offered absently, rounding to table to lay a large hand upon the back of his chair. “The women in your family always were rather practiced with waiting, whether it be to act, or simply have another act for you. _Hereditary,_ no doubt…”

Her body tensed with the urge to simply rise and slap him, but fortunately, that _was_ an urge she was rather practised with, insofar as suppressing it. Instead, Zelda channelled it neatly with a tight clasping of her hands beneath the table, forcing herself to offer a curt smile as the man drew his cape aside to sit.

“Indeed. Waiting for the opportune moment to arise… having the patience to endure unpleasant men…” she conceded casually, saccharine as she tilted her head toward him. “My name is just the first of many similarities, really… Though I would imagine they were afforded the right to choose their own dresses.”

Easing back into his chair, Ganondorf flicked a negligent gaze over the garment in question, returning her false sweetness with a sardonic smile. “Oh, I hardly think so. The last woman to carry your name would have worn her _father’s_ clothes, given half the chance.”he chuckled wryly then, waving such a notion away. “A pity, really, she would’ve looked quite fetching with short hair.”

“In any case, I have inherited her wisdom, it seems.” She held her smile shakily, ignoring the want to glare, “Thus far, I haven’t lost a finger to an ‘accident’ of any kind. It seems your fears were unfounded.”

“Perhaps not, but it’s early yet. Most accidents do happen within one’s home…” he mused then, his amusement fading to be replaced with renewed focus on her appearance.

Almost as if simply to spite her, for the first time that evening, Ganondorf sent what could only be described as an appraising gaze her way, boldly tracing the curves that her dress revealed. It was a slow and appreciative gaze, drawn out for the discomfort he knew she held for being examined in such a way—to leer so openly at a woman was the height of impropriety in Hylian terms. Zelda knew he likely did this simply to unnerve her, but the unknown was swimming in his eyes, and all things considered, she had little idea as to how lustful the man could actually be.

From what she had gleaned of his culture within the library, the Gerudo were not known for being discreet or chaste in the slightest, open in their solicitations and holding no qualms in the fulfillment of desire.

Focussing upon the silverware to distract herself, Zelda fought the blush that threatened to colour her cheeks, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. She tried to hide her unease with conversation, but found the words stumbling from her mouth instead.

“I’m sure I’ll manage. I’d be hard pressed to… keep myself occupied without… fingers… what with my reading habits, and all…”

Golden eyes snapped fast to her face then, an odd mixture of surprise and bemusement evident upon his own. It settled quickly into an incredulous stare—though the corner of his mouth ticked to betray humour.

“…Indeed.” Was all he could muster, leaning his elbows upon the table and lacing his fingers in front him, resting his chin upon his thumbs.

Noticing the change in his scrutiny, Zelda’s brows barely furrowed in return before she realised what she’d implied.

The blush ran rampant to heat her pale skin, flushing even the tips of her ears, and hastily she offered clarification; mortified. “Well, I could hardly turn the pages without the use of my digits, could I? Don’t be crude!”

The awkward moment drew a chuckle from him, and Zelda resolved to remain quiet as her gaze dropped to fixate on tightly clasped hands. Still taken aback by it despite any amusement to be had, Ganondorf didn’t dare to draw his eye away from her—whether she meant to imply something sexual and then hide behind modesty, or simply fell victim to coincidence, he couldn’t know. Given her taste in novels, however, such a ploy was likely not beneath her, and so his suspicion remained.

Either way, he had not expected it from her, and the surprise caught his mind ticking on the Princess’ potential cunning. He was right to challenge her with the dress, glancing over her again to hide a smirk behind his hands. If he was right in his hunch that the Princess—with her foot already in the door over dinner—would attempt to charm better treatment out of him, her looks had already failed her and risking the risqué would serve her no better. Shock tactics to a Hylian, perhaps, but to a Gerudo, manipulation was an art form and Zelda was hopelessly outclassed.

With a slight commotion echoing across from the doors to the servant’s hall, the royals settled into a reticent wait, listening to the scurrying click of claws against stone flooring as it drew closer. Within moments, the Princess blanched, watching with mild horror as a handful of leather-clad Lizalfos came hissing into the hall, carrying silver platters and trays of food with them in a remarkable feat of agility and balance. She couldn’t hide her flinch as one of the foul reptiles slithered up beside her, placing chalices down and filling them with sweet wine.

A harsh, scratchy dialect screeched forth from its jagged teeth, and in response the Gerudo gave a negligent flick of his hand, prompting the creature to leave the bottle before scurrying away with the others. Zelda noted that one or two of them had skittered up the walls further down the hallway, not unlike the tiny lizards she’d often seen in the gardens as a child—this did not bring her comfort, however, suddenly finding such a sight unnerving as she willed her appetite to stay.

Though it defied logic in her mind, the reptilian servants were gone even quicker than they came.

“Could you not have kept _some_ of the castle staff?” she breathed weakly. Peering at the Gerudo with an exasperated look, all the discomfort of what had just transpired written upon her visage, and wondering what might have become of her former servants, silently willed that the question remain rhetorical.

She wouldn’t make comment on the wine pilfered from her father’s cellar by such beasts.

“I require two things from those who serve me, Zelda: Loyalty, and efficiency.” Ganondorf offered then, taking up his drink and holding it close to his nose, “And I highly doubt your former staff would offer me _either_ of them.”

His barb fell to the wayside, however, as the Princess’ attention had quickly been stolen by the assortment of their spread. Fruit, roasted meats, pudding, wine; crystalline eyes had not seen such fine food in what felt like a small eternity, and Zelda’s stomach twisted painfully to remind her of that fact. The mere scent of it all was enough to distract her from her enemy entirely, spices taunting her nose with delicate aromas and tempting her tongue with moist flavour. She very nearly trembled with the want to begin piling her plate full, but decorum and circumstance drew her back quickly, a paranoid glance given to her captor.

She knew better than to touch even the wine without his blessing, lest she risk returning to gruel with only the memory of it all to haunt her.

The Princess was wary of his tricks, but this would be the cruellest yet to fall prey to.

Ganondorf noted her hesitance, curious for it as he bubbled the wine on his tongue, and offered a small nod to invite her to dine—the speed at which Zelda acted upon his permission sent a tingle up his spine. In truth, he had not expected her to be particularly well behaved, given the gracious opportunity to shoot herself in the foot; he had been almost certain she would make a run for the library again, at the very least, when he had allowed her to think him absent.

 _She’s been a fast learner, since our little encounter in the library_ ; internally, he gloated for his small victory here, a dark shade of delight fluttering in his chest. Indeed, the power he seemed to hold over her was far more satisfying than any of the morsels before them.

Leisurely following suit, he straightened to pluck a fork from the table, taking his own plate in hand. Musingly, he probed for conversation, holding back his smirk.

“I see your daily apple is not going astray.”

Zelda paused when he said this, having very nearly forgotten him in her rush to cherry-pick the roast. Peering down to notice she _had_ gathered a few slices of apple upon her plate, among the other choices, an odd sense of displacement struck her as she realised what she’d done. She tilted her head, taking a breath as she considered what to say—anything to disarm a comment about her favouring what he’d already provided.

"Conditioning, I suppose.”came her honest defence, “It was one of the few decent things I’ve had to eat since being locked away up there. An apple a day really does seem to keep death at bay, after all.”

She sat her full plate in front of her with renewed control, schooling her movements to regain their former grace in order to hide her desperate hunger from his eye. With a flippant sort of smile, ignoring her food a moment more in a show of restraint, slender fingers would seek her chalice instead.

“And grown from the castle’s own orchard, no less. It is quite impressive… I’ve yet to taste the cider tucked away in the cellars, but I suppose there’s plenty of time for that.”he returned casually, glancing at her only once as he gathered a few strips of meat for himself.

Biting the inside of her cheek as she swallowed her sip, Zelda could hardly keep her features from narrowing into a bitter frown. She lowered her chalice gently, intent on simply ignoring it, but as his mounting sleights began to burn under her skin, the Princess bristled to speak frankly.

“And how fortunate you had the foresight not to burn the orchard to the ground during this occupation… Unless your horrid cohorts decide to break into the cellars for themselves and grow a little too comfortable in their revelry, that is. A little carelessness might well rob you of the chance altogether, but I suppose that is the nature of _beasts—”_

That sickly sweet smile graced her lips again, haughty. “—to take what they can, destroy it, and then wonder why they are denied any _more.”_

She held his gaze boldly, watching his weathered features darken as she spoke; part of her expected for him to rise from his chair and strike her, though she knew it would be her victory if he did. The Gerudo considered her closely for a moment, something wavering behind his irises, and Zelda braced herself for his ire.

Much to her chagrin, any trace of anger soon left him with a thoughtful wag of his jaw, and then that awful chuckle beckoned her own temper to flare.

“Much the same as you would take my mercy, spit upon it with insults, and then wonder why you’ve been returned to your tower?”

If a look could strip the skin from one’s bones, _that_ was the one he received.

Arching a brow, Ganondorf played her game freely, calm and content to watch her fight to remain unflustered. “More impressive than your orchard still, Zelda, is the fact that you allow your tongue to betray you so openly, even at the risk of being removed.” He leveled her with a hard stare as he finished, popping a slice of apple into his mouth with finality enough to leave her silent again.

Plucking up her chalice quickly to recoil, Zelda concealed her sneer behind the rim of it, reticent though more venom seeped up into her throat. She drowned it with the wine, unable to gauge whether her bitterness had lost her any ground with him. She was growing used to his threats of bodily harm, cynical of them and finding they had lost much of their impact with time. Still, she supposed she should count her blessings he hadn’t truly moved to make good on any of them, and even now, the Princess didn’t intend on pushing the matter.

“Honesty and clear communication is the key to any developing relationship’s success.” She offered tersely, sour and trying to salvage what she could. She avoided his eyes after that, though the smirk he wore was noted—she’d gotten away with it, at least.

“Such traits _have_ saved you before.” Ganondorf conceded, careful to construe his meaning with a squint of golden eyes. Taking a knife to a piece of meat, he clarified it further. “Ridiculous as your efforts may have been, I can’t help but wonder what debaucheries that novel contains… A most addictive little quarry, I take it?”

The Princess set her cutlery aside, swallowing her embarrassment to meet him with a decisive twitch of her brow. “An old favourite, if you must know. If you’re truly curious, feel free to read it for yourself.” She managed a falsely pleasant smile as that small dare lingered between them, narrowly avoiding his question. “In my case, it is more for the sense of nostalgia than its contents… reminds me of a simpler time in my life, before I had read any of the history books you so thoughtfully decided to spring from.”

“My timing is impeccable, I know, but coronations always were a terrible bore.” Swirling his wine idly, the Gerudo offered her a jaded glance before taking a long draught. “In any case, I would never have picked you as having a taste for such garbage.” He said coolly, thick brows rising to await her retort, curious as to whether it would strike a nerve.

Zelda excelled in returning him with a patient smile, enduring as her hands folded upon her lap. “To each their own, Ganondorf. Some of us find interest in such things.”the lie came flawlessly, and she took pride as the corner of his mouth ticked to disapprove.

“I see.” His voice came stained with sarcasm and distaste, and still baiting her reaction, he rolled his shoulders to dismiss her. “Whatever comforts the weak, I suppose…” he watched her intently as her pleasant demeanor faltered briefly, and her façade threatened to crack once again—she hid it fabulously, he had to commend her, but he was far more familiar with this game than she was.

Waving a hand toward dessert as she seethed, Ganondorf mimicked her saccharine smile. “Pudding, Zelda?”

“Please.”grinding the word between her teeth, it came out more aggressively than Zelda liked, but she struggled to cover it with a hummed titter. Though her gaze stuck fast to his hands as he cut and served her a slice, the wild notion crossed her mind to simply pick up her knife and stab the one bearing the holy mark. She knew she’d made very little progress, but when the thought of continuing her plan made every inch of her skin itch, the Princess wavered on whether that was such a drastic loss.

The overwhelming urge to bite something swept over her, but stifling her anger as she could, Zelda decided it was time to strike with the unexpected—clearly, Ganondorf had her cornered, and the evening would end on bitter terms at this rate. She couldn’t allow old habits to set her back now that she had come this far.

Smoothing her expression to a faultless calm, she took a delicate hand to the cream, pouring some off before curtly passing it to him. As she did, the Princess leaned closer, stealing a surreptitious glance to be sure he would be caught off guard.

“But, while we’re on the subject of romance, I suppose I should ask…” she chanced it carefully, peering at him with all the prying want of a gossip. Greedily drinking up the trace of confusion on his face, she pounced before he could cut her off. “Do you intend to take a wife, during your reign?”

The Gerudo could’ve choked on his spoon, and caught in the grim hold of suspicion and shock, he returned to her a withering look that spoke volumes on her right to ask. He swallowed his bite slowly, staring the woman down with intensity enough to set her ablaze as his spoon uselessly clattered onto his plate; discarded. Composing himself quickly, he drew dangerously close, golden eyes burning brightly to threaten.

“Of what concern is that to _you?”_ he hissed coldly, daring to pause only inches from her nose.

Zelda held her ground boldly, her heart skipping a beat though her words betrayed none of the fear. “This is _my_ country. I have every right to wonder of its future, and as things currently stand, Ganondorf, that includes _your_ future as well.”

The Gerudo’s mind ran wild in the search for her angle, turning about everything she’d said to him recently for any clue—the element of surprise had indeed served her well, but Power beckoned paranoia. He had suspected she held ulterior motives, but this was all the confirmation he needed.

_Surely, she isn’t suggesting…?_

Crystalline eyes bored into him harshly, searching for any hint or pattern to decipher of the turmoil sweeping his orderly mind; it was like she’d sent a bombchu crawling under his skin days ago, and had chosen to detonate it now. She was playing her cards close to her chest, and it appeared she was willing to raise him, confident in her hand.

Perhaps he had underestimated her cunning… but regardless, all his chips were on Hyrule already, and he could not afford to fold on a bluff.

He would have to match her.

Shifting his jaw pensively, he inclined his head, growling out a definitive answer.

“ ** _No_**.”

The harshness of it seemed to rattle her bones, and suppressing a shiver for how coldly it came, Zelda did not let it discourage her. He may have been resolute, but so too could she be, when she had a goal in mind. Link could not be allowed to fail, and the thought of her Hero’s progress allowed her to borrow some of his courage, hiding her nervousness behind a polite smile.

“How unfortunate.”she soothed, taking up another spoonful of pudding.

Ganondorf allowed little reprieve, even as he drew slowly back into his seat. “To each their own, Princess.” He sneered, the mood for banter well and truly lost. “Some of us hold _little_ interest in such things.”

Though their first meal finished in silence, Zelda returned to her quarters with high hopes. It mattered little what he said, for she had seen it shining there in his eyes…

A seed of curiosity had been planted, and with careful watering it would grow quickly, until it blocked out everything else.


	5. Double or Nothing

The steady pacing of heavy boots echoed throughout the Gerudo King’s chambers, pensive and privated away as he was to wrestle the musings of a sleepless mind.

Since the previous evening, Ganondorf had been placed into a bewilderment, left to puzzle over the curious Princess in his midst. It was not often he entered such a state, glances stolen of himself every so often by the reflection of polished armour, resigned as it was to a mannequin for the moment. He had not bothered to dress. He had not left his rooms. Most alarmingly of all—or telling, perhaps—the Gerudo had also neglected his daily habit of manifesting in Zelda’s mirror.

It bothered him immensely that he could not bring himself to make contact, unsure whether he avoided it out of as yet undecided stratagem, or simply his own newfound discomfort. It seemed ridiculous how, so suddenly, he felt as if it may be Zelda’s eyes watching him through the sheen of his own looking glass, silent in judgement. Without the weighted metals cladding his body, he moved about his rooms in utter stealth, sneaking as if her pointed ears may somehow hear his unrest.

“ _Guileless **snake**_ **.”**

He hissed the cursing under his breath in native tongue, biting into the words with sharp teeth as if it were her flesh to tear. It struck him a grand and discouraging mystery as to how the paling wisp of a woman had managed to burrow so far under his thickened skin; one question, precise and callously timed, sent the fine hairs on his neck standing straight.

The sheer gall she had to even _ask_ such a thing… the world’s finest cards player wouldn’t have bet on that start.

Twitching fingers unfurled and tightened in and out of fists as he went, Gerudian insults slithering out of him all the while. Over the night he had mentally retraced every step taken with her to lead them to such a point, and still found himself at a loss for why he’d missed it—every gesture, every argument, every look she’d ever given him with those icy eyes of hers. Any hint or sign from previous interactions that had gone amiss in his gloating or taunting, little variations on their page as the Princess constantly edited herself before him, allowing them to be steered to civility.

The more he thought on it all, the less sense it made. He had missed so many crucial, subtle turns between them and yet, he was certain of what the Princess intended to seed when she put her question to him.

His following unrest was surely a small victory on her part, and this fact only served to annoy Ganondorf further.

Was he paranoid of her? Certainly, but now more than ever the Gerudo felt that it was warranted. He was a sharp man, sure of himself and swift to his conclusions. Able to read others, it was a rarity to find himself mistaken or caught unawares. Even now, his judgement hadn’t gone _that_ far astray—rather than a corridor to dash down for some foolhardy attempt to escape, Wisdom’s bearer had simply found a more refined avenue by which to open the doors of her cage.

Having been blindsided by all this though, Ganondorf was slowly coming to admit that his talents for reading people had gone rather far amiss where Zelda was concerned. Oblivious to the extent of her micro management, achieved only through an hour or so each day in a _mirror…_ his pride could barely weather the blow.

Sharply turning on his heel with another curse on his breath, the deafening crack of his knuckles against the wall seemed to shake the very room with stifled fury. The Gerudo King would seethe there for a moment, letting his anger seep into the cracked brick, and with measured breathing willed his head to clear and jaw to unclench. Thick fingers loosened from the fist, slivers of stone breaking free to shatter by his boots as he stared at the damage done, flexing his hand as it retracted. It did no good to rile and thrash with angered violence, he knew, when faced with the patience and undermining precision of Wisdom. This much he had learned already from her predecessor, and Zelda’s game—as he now understood it—was well afoot.

But Gods only knew how he’d have _liked_ to.

The tension left him with a sigh, and closing his golden eyes, Ganondorf allowed his forehead to rest against the wall. Cool against heated skin, he drew calm from it as he could, occasionally drawing back an inch to thud his head in frustration as he muttered.

“This is ridiculous,” he scoffed to himself, weathered features drawn into a tight scowl as if a great headache had gripped him. “An idiot could’ve seen through that ploy for better meals, she was fooling no one. There should have been nothing more to it than that. _Wishing to dine with one’s enemy;_ it’s the tactics of a spoiled child, demands turned to sweetness when they find resistance… to be _expected.”_

Again, he conceded for the fifth or sixth time to himself over the course of that morning, she must’ve known he may underestimate her in exactly that line of reasoning, and haughtily agree to her request.

_But, a double bluff, hiding the complex behind the obvious…?_

That she had studied him enough to do so presented truth to his predictability, just as she had once foretold, and it was this that perhaps rattled him the most. He _did_ hold habit of simply vanishing from her mirror and cutting conversations short whenever she overstepped her bounds, or simply bored him.

But, that was just it—he had maintained control of everything so seamlessly, it could only be that he had grown lax in guarding himself or _too comfortable_ with the idea that they should speak.

Yes… _that_ he had trouble admitting to himself.

And getting into his physical presence disallowed his aloofness to an extent, and left his reactions open for her to see—or at the very least, gauge him a little more accurately than before. Zelda had patiently built her manipulations until he had given her what she required to make her next strike against him, and he hadn’t even noticed until it was already done.

“Din sear it all, she’s probably been waiting to spring this for weeks, the conniving wretch… Gods only know what else she has managed.”

There was no way of telling with certainty how nuanced the Princess’ plans may be, but a rouse he was certain it was at present—doubt was there, of course, but he was not so unaware of her affairs as she perhaps thought. He had spent the night breaking it down as best he could.

Though she claimed to ‘wake in wait of his company’ for her isolation, Ganondorf knew this to be false, especially after her bitterness over dinner. What he didn’t know was whether Zelda believed he had _taken_ it as true, given he’d acquiesced her. There didn’t seem to be any sincere affections growing on her side, as well there shouldn’t have been.

Such a potent, loaded question— _will you take a wife during your reign?_

Clearly, she was probing for her chances of fulfilling the role herself, and politically speaking, those sorts of gambits were almost to be expected of royalty. But, what did she gain from it _now?_ A union may have held its benefit in prevention, but her throne was already forfeit. Even in the case that he _did_ take her hand in marriage, he would not afford her enough influence to undo him.

But neither was Zelda the sort of woman to sit idle as a personal plaything or a trophy of war. That much was becoming _evident._

A surrender to save the lives of those who served under her was one thing, and a smart move on her part. Allowing herself to be owned by her captor, in a legally binding marriage, when even her _father’s_ blood was—technically—on his hands?

No sound mind would willingly consider that without an ace in the hole to dig them out again soon enough; that was where his suspicions began.

Then again, as a _Gerudo,_ Ganondorf had to concede that Hylian marriage and all the rules it entailed mostly went over his head. As far as many of his sister’s would’ve seen it, her wish to marry him—forced to lovingly serve someone she likely also feared—was the wish to enter _abject slavery_. It wasn’t a thought he’d often entertained for his future or any woman that might have been part of it, regardless of how exposed to such a custom he’d once been in the Royal Court.

 _Not that I ever expected such a proposal to be made by an adversary_ , he reminded himself. _But, fool me once,_ his mind chided hastily, _she’ll not have the same luck again._ Even she must know that, once caught, her traction with him would vanish entirely.

If there was any ulterior motive that this business of marriage distracted from, the constant access and company to each other the arrangement entailed only seemed counter productive, once the shock of it faded.

It was irritating, too, but a small part of him even dared to suspect that trashy novella she seemed besotted with for its ill-timed influence. There was always the slight possibility that she’d brainwashed herself into romantic delusions, born of loneliness and desperation to find new purpose while locked up with that blasted thing. _Doubtful, but…_

He prayed, were that somehow the case, she at least had the good graces to deviate from the no doubt _poorly written_ plot. The very last thing he needed was to find out he’d been manipulated by something belonging in a sock drawer.

“We should hardly even be on speaking terms at all, let alone living out some depraved, second-rate writer’s fantasies.” He snorted resolutely, peeling himself away from the wall to turn, perusing his armour once more with a bemused frown.

Delusions aside, again, there was nothing he had done to warrant her developing any sort of sincere affection for him that he could think of. Strained civility was a far cry from the kind of good company that required, no matter how lonely or isolated one was, and even then he laced everything with an appropriate amount of hostility. Zelda also seemed to be in possession of all her faculties, from what he could see, and so paid no further thought to that notion.

Loathe as he was to do so, he could concede that—beneath his displeasure—the woman had earned some of his respect in the course of her capture, and he gave her far more credit than temporary insanity.

She hadn’t cracked under the conditions, and she hadn’t faltered in her dealings with him. She’d slipped by his guards on two occasions to make a fool of him, and had buttered him up for better treatment by subtly appealing to his ego over time. Zelda had made it pointedly clear that his future—alongside Hyrule’s own—was her business to know and have a hand in.

A long sigh rolled free as, once again, his mind seemed to be running circles around him, coming to nothing the longer he laboured on her question and the danger it could pose. Whatever her game was, he was certain that his present conundrum was playing straight into her hand. Pacing about his rooms like a distraught lover, worrying over an adulterous partner and running every horrid scenario through their head. Perhaps that was his burden, for Power rose quickly by complicated design. Wisdom was said to be simpler, elegant; spanning all things effortlessly to see with ease the compromises that Power overlooked.

And there, Power took pause to think on Wisdom plainly for the first time in hours, as the many voices in Ganondorf’s head quietened to the simple image of those calculating blue eyes. She had him doing all of this to himself, he knew. One sentence had shattered him for a night, and with that, she had stolen his control—no, he had given it over in panic, assuming it gone.

He was acting as she expected he would. She had not acted as he expected of her. That was his mistake. To be predictable was to see the same story play out—his defeat. That was what she’d said, and it was the example she had chosen to make of him.

_Conniving, smug little harpy._

But her talons were not yet clipped, and he would not be dismissing her so easily after this.

An earnest grimace took his mouth to twitch, and Ganondorf began to recall another quote openly, as her voice spilled into his head once again.

“But on that note… What was that she said, about her usefulness to me not yet running its course?”

Golden eyes narrowed to squint momentarily, decisive, and the Gerudo’s gaze wandered his chambers thoughtfully. “She assumed we both knew why, didn’t she…? As if the answer was obvious…” He stepped as he spoke to himself, musing outwardly and listening to the soft echo of his voice.

Soft steps took him around the back of a large armchair, idle fingers brushing the leathered back fondly. There it was, that tiny sliver he had missed, glinting in the dim light of the fire.

“Wisdom is far too obvious, or precious, to be bartered with in form.” A fiery brow arched, gaze falling to the embers. “She knows I have no need of advisement and specifically, no want for hers…”

_And her forces are shattered or left to linger as useless spirits in the Twilight…_

_Except for **one,** of course, but–_

No.

No, that couldn’t be it.

The bulk of his frame stilled entirely as the Gerudo’s head snapped upwards in realisation then, though he pitied that the hand Zelda planned to play was not nearly as persuasive as she seemed to think.

Her trump card, her secret last resort, couldn’t possibly be the _boy?_ All hours of the night spent pacing over a hollow threat, it seemed, if her precious bargaining chip was really so simple: an imp and a goatherd riding in to save the day. A Hero, as dauntless as ever to be taken straight out of legends and old superstition—his mind ventured it with ease, memory stirring for a flash of green and the blonde bangs of a similar boy in a courtyard long ago.

Yes, he remembered well the cost of the Deku Tree’s messenger, and what his few words to the King had wrought.

“A loyal dog that only heels to his master’s command,” he savoured the private jest taken for the boy’s lupine form in twilight, drumming digits against the top of his chair. “And she means to hold back his leash for my cooperation?”

Despite himself, he chuckled for the thought. He was almost a trifle embarrassed of his own fussing now, but he supposed it hadn’t gone without a lesson learned—just as with Zelda, perhaps the boy was not one to underestimate either, lest he be blindsided once again by unpleasant surprises.

“Even so, she mustn’t be too sure of the boy’s pending success… whatever that may be worth.”

A dying coal cracked open with a loud pop before him, sending a few fleeting flickers of red into the air, and Ganondorf inclined his head slowly to nod to himself. The threat of a Hero was not one he found to be pressing as yet, and by no means was it enough to be used as leverage from what he’d heard of the boy’s endeavours thus far. The potential for Link to become a problem was something he could not evenly _deny,_ given the boy’s blessing, but there was little need for concern at present.

But, taking Zelda’s hand would remove the possibility of a Hero’s threat to Ganondorf’s plans entirely, as well as eliminating the risk of Link’s failure and a complete loss on her part. No matter what she believed—in Ganondorf’s mind—the reality was far less about calling off her Hero and more like bargaining for Link’s life, but he could easily see the merit in erring on the side of caution.

“And she does claim to favour altruism, so I doubt it simply revolves around who spares who…” he commented to himself sneeringly, only half hearted in the statement. “The end of the occupation may be her truest condition; lifting the veil of twilight so that those below can return to their pitiful existence as normal. Likely she includes the Twili in such a wish, given what I’ve enabled Zant to make of their… _conscription,_ and whatever sob story the Imp fed her.”

Likewise, it was a reasonable guess that Link himself only knew what Midna wished him to. The Twili Princess always was the self serving sort. As far as the poor goatherd understood, he probably thought Zant would be the end of his troubles.

 _If he survives long enough to make such a stand,_ golden eyes flashed with a dark humour. _The boy may never hear of me at all, save only to learn the name of his new King when all is said and done._

Playing his cards right, Ganondorf could remove the burden of holding to his end of the deal where Zant was concerned as well—making a well-timed scapegoat of the usurping Twili seemed a fitting finale.

With access to her realm returned to her in the case of Zant’s dismissal, Midna’s only interest would be to restore order in her own tattered Kingdom, which would have to be handed back under Zelda’s likely terms. In turn, though, he would have Hyrule in her full splendour, untainted by Twilight and returned to how he recalled it once was—the Kingdom he so coveted for his own.

Not the victory he wanted, but as Zelda removed the risk from herself—without the games of fate to intervene—the risk of his own failure, slim as he saw it, disappeared also. His jaw shifted with thought as he glared off into the dim light of his quarters, shifting to rest his elbows atop the back of his armchair and lean.

Wisdom sought compromise, it seemed. A true and unmitigated surrender in which Zelda forfeited even her freedom, so that his wrath might be sated and two worlds’ worth of people spared its fires.

“…Yes, some measure of peace returned by the self sacrificing Princess, without all this bloodshed. How _noble.”_ He spat, uninspired.

The lines of his face darkened for the distinct lack of such compassion he could recall his own tribe receiving in the past, hissing at the shadows as if they still belonged to the ghosts of his people.

Perhaps she even hoped she might change him, temper her husband into someone she could actually stomach from the shadow of the throne and encourage mercy were it went so _undeserved._

“Is that all it takes these days, when even Heroes are allowed to be spared their duties at your whim, and Kings are expected to curtail to the charms of a prisoner’s smile? Set the whole world right, with nothing but a stiff upper lip and a few lies to sweep it all under the rug… how typical of _Hylian Royalty_.”

Wisdom’s edge seemed to have dulled some to him now as he thought on this, but maybe that was why its cut had stung him so these past hours, he realised. A strange and subtle stirring in his chest panged of recognition, of the same mistakes, and the pitiable end they often held.

It was the nature of a mind tainted by power, and a heart darkened by hate, to see the woman’s intended sacrifice as rather cheap, despite the slim respect from him it had gained her. Seeing her endure this much, and seeing she apparently intended to do so for the rest of her days…

But she was young, and the world had yet been rather kind to her until he darkened her door. She had merely had a taste of the tragedy such a road would bring her.

He had lived far longer and seen the true nature of multiple worlds and those within them. Good intentions strayed too easily, changed too fast, and reality stripped down even the purest of dreams. There was always a higher road to be taken, and without exception, Ganondorf recognised this fact—he had tried to walk it in his own youth, when he too was hopeful, desperate and naïve. It was a long road, and a hard one travelled; sometimes that path simply demanded the impossible, while everyone else was out to serve themselves.

He lived as proof of that, and if Zelda’s wish was to challenge him in all he’d seen and struggled against, she was more than welcome to make her mistake. Everyone had a vice, a secret, a desire to be exploited, a sin to be exposed and a virtue for the rending. It was merely a game of finding out which was which, and now he had his heading on hers. Let her martyr herself for the good of others; he knew he would be the one to collect the spoils in the end.

He would watch her break herself against his stones without issue, if that was what she wished.

 _As ever, Princess, I will **indulge** you,_ he thought cruelly, allowing the corner of his mouth to curve into malicious, knowing sort of smirk.

There was a _lesson_ to be learned here.

“And I shall think on taking a wife, after all.”

~~

Within the confines of her tower, unaware of her captor’s brewing counterplot, Zelda had also found herself the subject of restlessness.

Expectant of routine, the Princess had waited by her mirror for the better part of an hour for Ganondorf to show. Though she only had a vague method of keeping time, relying on her internal body clock for the most part, it had never been an issue for their habit before. No matter what time of day or night, it seemed whenever Zelda was near her mirror, the apparition of the Gerudo would join her soon enough—she suspected he had a sense for it, or some manner of charm to alert him. It was indeed possible that he was always exactly aware of what she was doing, though she preferred not to imagine that fact.

It was strange when, even after such patience, she was simply left to her own reflection.

That was when Zelda’s concerns began to rise. At first, she resigned herself to reading upon her bed, glancing at the mirror now and again for any sign of the evil King. By the time she had turned the pages of an entire chapter, Zelda was merely pretending to read, her gaze stuck fast to the glass in search of black and red as her thoughts began to stray from her.

It was apparent that Ganondorf would not be checking in on her today, and this was by no means a comforting thought.

There were two reasons that she could think to name—firstly, the Gerudo was otherwise engaged. This could have meant any number of things, but given how rigid he was in seeing her well guarded and watched, it would take a rather pressing matter to distract him so much she’d be left to her own devices unchecked. She had every faith in the Hero’s progress, and by this point, he and Midna may well be nearing the completion of the imp’s Fused Shadow artefact. With the potency of such forbidden magic onside, she could easily see Ganondorf moving to intervene more directly—if such were the case, then his absence meant her allies were now in grave peril.

Barring that, the second likely cause was entirely her own fault, in that she’d been far too forward in her affairs the previous evening.

By no means did she take the Gerudo to be a fool, and having since settled from the barbs traded over dinner, Zelda knew she had toed a few lines. Her mixed signals surely didn’t help things, for in retrospect, to go from pleading for his company to their most heated verbal spat in recent days when he granted it did little to make her seem genuine in her fondness of him. The instant he had given an inch, for her desperation, she had taken a mile. He could hardly be blamed if his absence was merely to put a bit of distance between them, given how sourly he reacted to her prompting about his romantic interests.

Zelda regretted how she’d allowed the evening to play out, as much as she took a guilty pleasure in it.

In truth, she had planned to present the matter as a political inquiry at first, but now Zelda feared she had missed her mark entirely in the heat of things. She had struck a surprising nerve in him when bringing up the business of wives, and there was a great deal of satisfaction in her for that, but driving him to avoid her was the very opposite of what she intended.

After all the bitterness and chastisement she had endured from that man, his venom seeping deep into her bones and leaving her spirit heavy, it was both liberating and refreshing to finally land a blow strong enough to visibly stun him. She’d revelled in the small victory over the course of the night, vindicated in creeping under his skin like he had so often done to her and catching his flinch in turn.

But perhaps she’d been too quick to pounce upon the opportunity to return fire, damaging her progress thus far—any flip in the power dynamic between them still had a while to come, if at all before the Hero finished things on her behalf.

Whatever the case, if Ganondorf’s attention was not fixed upon her, then it would begin to focus elsewhere. If she could not correct this immediately, her plans would surely fail.

Once again, she turned to the novella for some inspiration, and by the time dusk had fallen outside, the Princess had read well on methods to heal a lover’s tiff. She didn’t bother to follow the clichés to the letter, but after a chapter in which the protagonist won interest back from the Duke when things went sour, Zelda prepared herself for dinner with a new tactic in mind.

With romantic gestures and enhanced beauty—entering the ball in the finest gown and reminding her lover of the radiance she bore—the title’s debutant had bought the attention she needed, disarming her Duke, and was able to smooth things over as they danced. A demure conversation in which little insecurities were confessed saw things right again, the fictional fight boiling down to nothing more than nervousness and a touch of jealousy.

For her inexperience with cosmetics on top of her limited knowledge of romantic conquest, Zelda felt herself going out on a limb once again, but worked to follow her only example as best she could.

The Princess could easily forge a few reasons to similarly reframe her terseness from the night before with romantic overtones—perhaps she ‘simply feared being dismissed by him’ or ‘mistakenly thought such an attitude may appeal to a man of his background and impress’. She could quite truthfully state her lack of experience in courting as the cause of her misreading the air between them, and hopefully turn things around from there.

As for her looks, Zelda had to improvise, but she was desperate enough to try anything that may help. With so little to work with, and no handmaidens to help her, she favoured subtlety.

A cold chunk of charcoal was pilfered from her fireplace, the soot of it tested on her fingers before being tentatively applied to her eyelids for a light shadow. She donned the dress Ganondorf had gifted her, once again doing her best to lace it herself until it held a satisfying fit. Her bottom lip endured idle chewing as she readied herself, so as to appear full and red. She combed through her hair for as long as it took to ensure not a strand would fall out of place, pinning it back simply in a modest, though neat, style.

Then, she found herself reaching for adornments, and the Princess’ busy rush to impress halted there.

As her hand hovered over the gilded diadem, torn, Zelda paused to ponder its symbolism once again—she sometimes felt she had forfeited the right to wear it, though she knew it would frame her beauty, and perhaps her intentions, perfectly if she did. It was a strong statement piece, after all, though it required far more consideration than a necklace or a pair of earrings.

Representing the station she held, its weight upon her brow had been both an unwelcome and stifling thing throughout the years, though she drew inspiration from it where she could. It held the power of a legacy, and both reminded her of the great distance between herself and her people, set by status, while also symbolising her duties to them. It was a paradox that had never rested quite well with the Princess.

Not so long ago, before Ganondorf had appeared in her mirror, she was proud to have set her crown aside, feeling closer to her people than ever before in doing so. She felt fuller, more of herself. She felt right in suffering as they did, and Zelda did not wish to be held above them or given special treatment for her position. She had no issue in setting such a thing aside to spare them as much cruelty and death as she could.

But, even stripped of its authority, this simple adornment still seemed to carry with it all the expectancy of her to do what she must for the good of her country. In many ways, it reflected the necessity of putting herself through this grand rouse with the Gerudo King in the first place. It was fitting that she should wear it, almost ironic. Reminding her captor of her influence—the worth of her as a prize—so overtly, too, may also help to rekindle his attention.

On the other hand, it seemed such a cheap reason, for she knew it did no justice to her blood’s true value. She guarded the hopes of her people, and she dared not disgrace that by ascribing her importance to a piece of mere metal.

 _Or by reducing myself to the heroine of a romance novella_ , she realised, catching sight of herself in the mirror to see a self forged pair of ‘bedroom eyes’.

With a remorseful sort of smile, Zelda lowered her hand to trace the crown’s filigree with a finger, and gave a wistful sigh.

“No, I’m being foolish… There’s no point in trying to sway him with appearances. Power is the only thing that catches that man’s eye. I might as well show up in rags.” she mused to herself, decision made.

She scooped her diadem up by its chain then, holding it before her as if the sapphires were the eyes of her Kingdom—of her father—to witness and judge what would only seem like betrayals to them until her plans were complete. Zelda had to convince the Gerudo that her power was not dictated by status, and she was willing to do whatever was necessary in achieving that. Once he saw that strength, he would chase it down, just as the Duke had chased the debutant for her beauty.

Crowns were simply empty things made powerful by those who wore them.

A foreboding premonition seemed to take her for that thought as her gaze silently traced the gems of her diadem, but she knew then she had to leave it be, hide it within her vanity drawers and only take it out when she was sure the day was won.

She heard the knock at her door not a second after she’d slid the drawer shut, and Zelda steeled herself for their second meal together, grateful enough that their arrangement had persevered.

Far ahead of her this evening, Ganondorf once again filled the seat at the head of the dining table, patiently awaiting his guest.

Golden eyes watched in silence as a small band of monstrous servants laid out platters and cutlery as they had the night before, paying only the mildest of interest as he swirled a glass of wine. His thoughts were elsewhere, and that distraction was made plainly obvious; not even a grimace given when one lizalfos chose to light the candles with a small burp of flame. For the same reason, the Gerudo had also failed to notice the odd looks he received from the creatures when they had entered the room, rather surprised to find him bereft of his armour and casually attired.

Though none of them dared to make screeched comment—at least not within earshot of their Master—the beasts could not help but stare, taking twice as long as usual to set the table for their curiosity. One or two of them found it simply odd, settling on thoughts that he was indulging comfort or was feeling lazier that day. But the sharper servants, the ones longer in their service, seemed to recognise the significance of this with a great sense of unease, keeping as much of their distance from the man as possible while still performing their task.

The Master only relaxed like this when he felt totally sure of himself and his victories, and given how stringent his orders were surrounding castle security—especially the Princess, whose guards had already made well known as seeming ‘unstable and dangerous’—the sudden lax appearance and these dalliances with his prisoner made little sense. Coupled with the rumours emerging amongst their ranks about the strange swordsman that was battling to lift the twilight, even the lizalfos knew his attitude was far too premature.

It was this concern that would be whispered in the castle halls after the Gerudo waved them away, sending them scurrying off with a grunt as he refilled his glass, oblivious to their doubts.

He cast a cursory eye over the spread, taking a sip of his drink and bubbling it on his tongue as he thought of how to play this evening off. Satisfied enough with presentation and reclining some in his seat, one would never guess the Gerudo had been up all hours plagued by paranoia. A lazy smirk had set itself upon his weathered features, golden eyes sharp and clear, as he set himself up to project the very picture of casual nonchalance.

This was the vision of him Zelda found when, escorted by the faithful Iron Knuckle once again, she stepped into the dining hall. She didn’t quite know whether to be relieved or unnerved by the atmosphere; Ganondorf not only present on time but acting as if nothing were amiss. A breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding in left her freely, a silent nod given to her escort as the hulking beast left her to make its retreat back and away.

No sooner did the Gerudo’s gaze find her, Zelda felt herself so suddenly exposed, as if standing upon a ledge and being dared to jump. There was a cold and alien silence in the air that filled the expense between them, something unusual that neither of them seemed able to pinpoint for that moment. A mutual stare seemed to echo out, calling attention to itself with expectancy as each of them waited for the other’s reactions. It seemed a little like strained nervousness, or a lack of recognition.

Something clicked in the back of her head, and the more material difference to things was duly noted—Ganondorf had not chosen to don his usual regalia, just as she had forgone her Royal adornments. But Zelda hadn’t any clue as to what that may mean or represent. Did he wish to forge an open, perhaps more approachable air? Was it an invitation of subtlety, or some sort of jab at her, as if she was not worth even the fuss of properly dressing?

Then there was the impression instinct delivered to her swiftly, settling into her stomach like lead—even without his armour, the man lost nothing of his overbearing presence. He was no more vulnerable without it, and he gave no impression of seeming weaker for being exposed.

No, if anything, he seemed welcoming to all challenges that could assail him and ready to overcome them. He boasted imperviousness, even when his enemy thought they had caught him off guard. It was a message that Zelda did not take lightly or dismiss, though she held her head higher as she stepped forward to join him, readying a rather diplomatic smile.

Not too sweet, but certainly not sour, she cut a graceful path toward her seat to settle gloved hand upon the top of it, offering her greeting.

“Good evening, Ganondorf.” She ignored the feeling of unease as his gaze followed her movements precisely, like a hawk tracking a dormouse.

The lazy smirk he wore seemed to tick a fraction wider as he inclined his head slowly, his thumb idly tracing the rim of his glass. Much like the Princess, he was quick to take stock of her altered appearance—with no cosmetics on hand with which to gussy up, he couldn’t help but be curious as to what she’d used. She’d enhanced her eyes with what looked to be kohl, and her lips seemed fuller. Her tresses sat perfectly groomed, and not a thing seemed out of place on her person. Without the aid of handmaidens, the effort was rather impressive, and indeed, he did have an odd love of symmetry and order that Zelda was currently appealing to; everything _just so_.

She must’ve caught his habit for picking stray hairs off his own person in the mirror too, observant little thing. He couldn’t find a fault about her, even down to the way she walked toward him… wearing the dress he’d given her, no less.

“Princess,” he returned evenly, quirking one brow and refusing to sit upright in spite of her presence. A negligent gesture tipped his glass toward her chair, a motion for her to sit. He remained silent for a moment as she took the invitation, something smug about him as he withheld any obvious reaction to her appearance. He cut in suddenly, before she had fully settled in, just to make the timing uncomfortable.

“I do hope you’ll forgive me for my absence earlier. Unfortunately, our daily ritual went astray under the urgency of some more… important matters.” He grinned curtly, flashing his canines to add a hint of sharpness to the smile.

She had stilled when he spoke, but with a roll of her shoulders finally settled into a comfortable position, her gracefulness purposely disturbed by it. Zelda ghosted a grimace before she swallowed it, a thoughtful—if slightly disapproving—hum leaving her for it.

“Yes, I thought as much.” Crystalline eyes avoided his as she rearranged her plates and cutlery into more proper positions—force of old habit. “A shame, really. I thought on what you said the other day about the later works of Lord Danton, and I recall we have a good portion of that collection preserved in the archives… I was going to tell you about them, but you never showed.”

A small spark of genuine interest crossed his features at the mention of that, but not wishing to be distracted, Ganondorf forced his enthusiasm to be doused for the moment. Oil paintings were a special fondness of his, and Zelda knew this—though he was secretly pleased at the opportunity to show her, in true detail, why it was so important to note that the man was partly colour blind when looking at his landscapes of the southern fields. The flowers were there if one truly looked, and it was springtime, rather than autumn as she claimed; the insects present could attest to that.

 _But plenty of time for that later_ , he reminded himself quickly, unwilling to give her any hint as to what he’d been doing that morning instead.

“That _is_ a shame. Not that I don’t enjoy listening to you confuse Danton with Denton, and getting it all wrong in between… but at least you can blame your old tutors for that.” He chuckled boldly, a light sniping covered with jest as he reached for the bottle, seeking to fill her glass.

Despite herself, he caught a small breath of amusement from her as Zelda silently conceded—both knew he had it over her where art was concerned.

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know I passed the time with some light reading, instead.” She shot back with a playfully saccharine smile, taking up her glass before pausing to flash him a look. “And I’ll thank you not to make any lewd jokes, before you start.”

It drew a knowing laugh from him, an easy rumbling from his chest, and Zelda felt she had hit a comfortable stride. It was obvious that the both of them were dodging the issue from the night previous, hiding behind their usual banter, but against the tension she’d experienced all day, this wasn’t a completely unwelcome change. At the very least, it was rather safe, and by now very familiar. Ganondorf, too, seemed to be in fair spirits and held no trace of the defensiveness he did in their last meeting.

Perhaps he’d thought on it and found the idea of marriage to his liking, after the shock had worn away… that, or whatever _had_ busied him earlier had involved her losing serious ground elsewhere.

She hoped—her comfort aside—that it wasn’t the latter.

“I make no promises,” he mused openly, moving to finally gather a few morsels onto his plate and nodding for her to do the same. Off-hand as he did so, his gaze flicked over her once again, and he would finally relent a small compliment. “But you do look ready to set the minds of men turning to similar thoughts.”

Zelda brightened, vindicated for her fussing and silently thankful for the advice of romance writers, whatever it may be worth. She tilted her head to flash a brief glimpse of a long neck, a subtle thing, as she took to buttering a bread roll.

 _As long as your mind doesn’t get too far ahead of itself that way inclined,_ she thought, we’ll be golden.

“And what about your attire?” she probed lightly, trying to keep hold of his good humour while she had it. “I must say, I was beginning to fear you slept in that armour.”

The Gerudo set his plate down to return her attention with a self indulgent sort of air, a haughty curve on his mouth as his brows rose matter-of-factly. “Shocking, I know… but it occurred to me that there is little need to remain dressed for conquest, when in a place one has _already_ conquered.”

She flashed him a sharp glance to answer quietly, though not as bitterly as he expected, “Indeed…You look _almost human.”_

Taking up his silverware, the Gerudo seemed unphased by her subtle dig, letting his gaze fall away from her as he began cutting some meat. “…Still monstrous enough to remove that tongue, Zelda.” He mused, though the threat seemed mostly grounded in jest this time.

The Princess stifled her thoughts on that for a good moment or two, a light roll of her eyes hinting at her urge to speak, but she continued on with the meal as normal. He watched her chew the inside of her cheek as she held it in, flicking a curious glance her way for the silence, but the weight of his gaze seemed to undo her. In a precise set of motions, Zelda had laid down her cutlery with a light clatter of finality, chin held high as she laced her fingers before her.

She hesitated as the words brewed, but then a bold stare was sent to level him, peering through the Gerudo as if he’d spouted gibberish.

“You know, actually, I rather doubt that, Ganondorf.” She ventured bravely, momentarily cocking a delicate brow to dare. “If the things I have said truly offended you, you’d have left me to rot in the tower alone and half mad for the solitude, or made good on your threat already. In fact, I would wager good money that you actually enjoy my speaking so frankly, even when displeased by what I have to say.”

Having popped a bite into his mouth as she spoke, Ganondorf chewed it considerately, tilting his head and glancing to one side in thought. This was mostly for show, and swallowing, the Gerudo clicked his tongue dismissively to focus his attention upon his plate. He took his time to respond, idly poking the fork through his food.

“While I do have a healthy respect for the need to test one’s boundaries, Zelda, this is really one of those lines that you can’t jump back over once crossed.” He shot her a rather flat look then, bordering on a grimace. “And not that you have any to gamble with, but I’d hate to take money from a lady, right after taking her tongue…”

He leaned forward a little to add a whisper, crinkling his large nose some, “That would just be _rude.”_

Zelda weathered the sass stoically, crystalline eyes narrowing some as she stayed the path. “You’ve a wealth of mystical resource at your disposal. You could easily have watched over me through the mirror without making your presence known. On that note, surely a spell could silence me, if you wished… Instead, you’ve given me even _more_ liberties and allowed me to dine with you. If anything, I’ve been _rewarded_ for a bold tongue.”

The response Ganondorf gave was an exasperated sway of his head at first, gathering some morsels onto his fork in a point of tuning her out, as if she was prattling on needlessly about the obvious. A slight growl had crept into his voice by the time he spoke again, hinting of his waning patience.

“I _will_ prove you wrong if you want to press the issue, Zelda.”

Her head cocked upwards in a belligerent way, accepting nothing, and with a slight slam to force his attention the Princess would flatten her palm against the table to eye him. The Gerudo’s head whipped to the sound, his features darkening for the disturbed atmosphere as irritation swept away any hint of his previous smirks. Razing him with the cut of a frown, Zelda acted before he could chastise her, snatching up a knife in her other hand by the top of its blade to hold the handle out toward her captor. A sliver of violence shook through the dark King for such a bold and dangerous temptation, as his gaze travelled from her hand to her face, a mixture of shock and anger swirling across his features.

Even Zelda surprised herself to find the words slithering from her so callously, unaffected by the chill running down her spine for what may happen if he wasn’t bluffing.

“I count five fingers, two feet, and one tongue all untouched despite numerous threats against them, and even more reasons to follow through. I would’ve thought the _line_ was well and truly crossed the way you reacted last night—” she saw the flash in those golden eyes and knew he understood, his scowl deepening for it. “—and yet here I am, _enunciating._ So either you admit that you’ve grown fond of me and leave this hollow intimidation behind, or you may as well start cutting.”

With such a challenge put to him so brazenly, the Gerudo had to fight the twitch of his fingers to oblige her, and he found himself tracing the shape of the knife offered to him with a noticeable hint of malice. It was a hard thing to set his pride to the wayside and show her the truth of things—if not for the new horizon of opportunity that she’d opened his eyes to, even a day or so before and in a sour mood, he may well have taken her whole hand. He didn’t care for Zelda’s continued attempts to set them as equal, for he had earned his right to be as he was and command as he did, where she had lost—no, _forfeited_ hers. He set her boundaries firmly, and if she did not adhere to them, in no way were his threats intended to be hollow.

But Ganondorf was not an unreasonable man, and luckily for Zelda, she thought those lines much closer than they actually were and had not yet stumbled across them.

Humour her, the tactful corner of his mind whispered; _better she think it a by-product of affection than realise her leash is slightly longer than she thinks._

Because Gods only knew, she would strain it to the limit until it—and _he—finally_ snapped.

As the Princess sat there, seemingly attempting to level him with her eyes, the Gerudo allowed his returned glare to lessen and his withheld snarl to fade. An eerie calm overtook him then, a thoughtful twiddling of his fork given as he slowly shifted back, lounging in his seat to set the utensil down and replace it with his glass of wine. He peered into the depths of the red liquid, choosing his words carefully as his brow twitched.

Only the gold of his eyes rose to move, pinning her over the rim of the glass, and he could already see the tiny tremble starting to tic at the corner of her mouth—second guessing her bravery, no doubt. She hid her dread fabulously, he had to commend her. A lesser man may well have missed it, but Ganondorf knew all the hallmarks of fear and had thrived upon them far too long now for her to fool completely.

A lengthy sigh rolled from his nostrils over a reluctant grimace to concede.

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear to you, _Princess,”_ he began slowly, restraining his want to sneer as he tapped one black nail upon the side of his glass in point. “Banter and jokes aside, I am no more a monster than you are. I am a _King.”_ He hissed it firmly enough that she, too, began to lean back into her chair. “And before that, I was a brother and a son. Once, very long ago, I was even a father. Three of the things that gave me such titles have been taken from me over the years, but I hold very tightly onto the one that remains. I was a King when your ancestors called me a barbarian and a savage, and I remain one now as you goad me, trying to prove them _right.”_

Zelda had lowered the knife now to lay it back down by her plate, taking some solace in the fact that—to some extent—she seemed to have made the right call and her digits remained intact. But they had bordered on this sort of conversation before, and this was where, despite many common interests, their view on history and each other dangerously diverged. Often, this was where he would retreat from her mirror and cut their spat short before it grew heated to bring out the worst between them.

But face to face, she knew this was a subject that required careful steps, and one they perhaps weren’t ready to address while the tension was so raw. Her palm slid slowly from between them to retreat into her lap with the other, hands clasping as they often did to control her want to lash out further.

“The only thing I am trying to prove is that just as you are a King, I remain Hyrule’s Princess.” She offered evenly, her features set like stone. “If you wish to threaten and mistreat me as a prisoner that has no more worth to you than my suffering, _do so_. But, if you have any respect or affection for me at all—and I highly suspect you _do_ —I deserve better than these _mind games_ while you try to justify your own feelings.”

A terse clenching of his jaw betrayed the Gerudo’s ire at that, but knowing her game for what it was, he could see now exactly how she had managed to steer them to this point. She wasn’t quite a liar, no, that wasn’t it—a knack for twisted truth was more accurate. It was something the man could appreciate, even through the crime of trying to manipulate him with such technique. It was so genuine, elegantly taking what was already present and observed and reshuffling the facts to convince him.

He _did_ enjoy their verbal sparring matches; she _had_ gained his respect. Indeed, realising his predicament the night before, Ganondorf had struggled to admit that there were parts of her that he had, in fact, grown fond of.

But the mind game was her own, and in knowing that, the illusion broke—she was still the enemy, and her control only extended as far as _he_ allowed.

“I was _raised_ by the voices of bold women, and you’re correct, I do respect and admire such a trait… but my feelings on the matter are settled, and my threats were never hollow. I may remind you of them a little too frequently for the sake of my amusement… that is cheap of me, I’ll admit—I shall try to refrain in future.” he would grant then, slowly bringing the wine to his lips for a small draught of it.

“Thank you,” she breathed, exasperated by the effort it took to get him there.

“But,” he interjected firmly, levelling a finger toward her from the side of his glass and offering a stern glare. “Do _not_ make the mistake of thinking that I would not revoke your right to such speech, if you ever dared to echo some of the things your predecessors said. It was their tongues—their _orders—that_ saw a prison built upon the _bones of my people_ , and that debt has yet to be paid.”

 _And you should count yourself lucky I haven’t spilt your blood as a start,_ he added internally, swirling his glass in frustration.

Without further issue, the Princess wisely chose to let their discussion settle from there, satisfied enough with the slim progress made as she offered a curt nod. An affirmative grunt from the Gerudo in turn saw them return to their meals in relative peace, a few minutes of comfortable reticence taking hold.

Zelda noted him out of the corner of her eye, guarding her table manners carefully even now—though he wasn’t overt, it seemed Ganondorf was rather fasciated by the way she ate. They each had certain customs about themselves when taking a meal, and she had already marked the way he set a table. He was very familiar with Hylian ways, but swimming in his movements were foreign habits that she, for her stricter upbringing, could pick quite plainly. Apparently nobody had ever informed him not to put his elbows on the table or slouch in his chair, for a start.

She had the niggling suspicion he found her eating habits to be stiff or slightly comical for their formality, but since he made no comment on it, Zelda allowed her nitpicking of his own table manners to go unvoiced as well.

It wasn’t until the main course was over with that they spoke again, the Princess refraining from taking one of the tea cakes from the tiered stand as she tentatively asked, in a strangely meek sort of whisper, a question intended to disarm him.

“…Is that why you will not consider me as a wife?”

It drew pause from him as he was reaching for his own dessert, and a curious glance shot her way with furrowed brows as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. After a second to process it, linking it back to the last thing said, the Gerudo let go of a heavy—tired—sigh. He sat back in his chair and toyed with the wrapper of his tea cake, folding the sides down and studying the crumbling mass as if reading something written there. His jaw wagged pensively, and Zelda knew he was holding back his first, and likely even his second responses in order to pick something better suited.

It was had to tell whether he was more irritated by it or simply torn, though when he looked at her again, Zelda couldn’t help but suspect the man was fighting back the dull thud of a headache.

He didn’t sound pleased when he answered, though what he said surprised her.

“It was one of a few good reasons that I initially dismissed the thought, yes…” he growled out low, reluctant to speak too forwardly on the matter. He took a careless bite of the sweets and licked a stray crumb from his top lip, looking as if he may say something more but unsure of whether he should.

There was a sour tone in how he looked at her that made Zelda feel as if she’d torn some dirty secret out of him by blackmail, though her eyes widened a fraction when his choice of words hit home. Tilting her head to eye him closely, almost in disbelief, she took in a breath to pursue it but faltered at the parting of her lips—the hard stare she received warned her away from it quickly.

Despite herself, and Ganondorf’s discouraging glare, she couldn’t help but offer him the ghost of a smile. A small nod, understanding, conveyed she wouldn’t pry any further, and Zelda quietly went about picking one of the smaller cakes for herself. The Gerudo took note of this, and for the first time in the better part of twenty minutes, offered a wry and amused little smirk.

Arching one fiery brow, conversation returned with all the ease it had started, a negligent gesture waving his own half eaten dessert toward her.

“You eat like a sparrow, you know. You were so stubborn about eating better meals, and now you sit there pecking at everything.” He mused, some private joke glinting in his eye as she moved the cake to a plate, taking to it with a spoon rather than simply biting into it. As if an afterthought struck him suddenly, he added haughtily, “If you’re after a thin waist, Zelda, I could always send you back to apples.”

Still chewing but not wanting to miss a retort, the Princess covered her mouth lightly to speak with a light frown. “Not all of us have a sweet tooth, Ganondorf,” she managed before swallowing, flashing him a squint. “I saw your double helping of pudding yesterday. Just a shame your personality doesn’t match your tastes.”

A guilty snickered sounded from him, something strangely boyish about it for the mischief as he poked the last chunk of his cake into his mouth in spite. He chewed it with a wide smirk, fleeting dimples in his cheeks for the motion. Zelda pointedly ignored this, refusing to catch the smug expression he wore and waiting until he had washed it down with the last of his wine.

“Imagine if your personality reflected _yours,”_ he jibed, tongue clicking still to clear the last morsels from his teeth and brows raised in humour. “Surely, you must’ve read that book thrice over and again by now.”

Then her eyes really did roll, a light shake of her head given with it—he was never going to let her live it down. She dug another gouge out of her cake and held the spoon before her lips, quipping before the bite. “Well, it isn’t as if you’ve allowed me to choose any _new_ material… and I was still operating under the assumption that I’d be losing my feet for the trouble, if I tried.”

Leaning an arm against the table, the Gerudo would drum his fingers lightly upon the wood, and it seemed his earlier nonchalance was slowly returning to him. He was considering something, a slight purse of his lips giving the hint before his eyes narrowed decisively. “Earlier, you mentioned Danton’s later works being among the pieces you own…” he trailed off there, tapping the end of his unused spoon in idle distraction.

Zelda could hardly contain her sigh, but she humoured him, hanging her head some. “Ganondorf, I have seen ‘ _The southern breeze of Hylia_ ’ over a thousand times, and I swear to you, there isn’t a single flower to be found hiding on that canvas. It was painted in the fall for his ailing mother and—”

“And I am going to prove to you, once again, that you haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” He finished, resolute and high handed as he offered a toothy—if not eager—grin. A small rap of his knuckles against the table top reminded her of a judge handing down a sentence, and the Gerudo shifted in his seat, moving to stand.

“If you can manage to avoid making an utter fool of yourself tomorrow morning, when I’m pointing out the details right in front of your nose, Zelda, I may just be gracious enough to reward you with some more… _wholesome_ reading options.” A single brow rose. “Provided you don’t stray too far from fiction, of course…”

The Princess found herself gawking up at the man for a moment as he offered his hand for her to take—partly for the fact that she simply hadn’t grown used to the sheer size of his build yet, but more for how swiftly his good humour had returned. It was always slightly unnerving to her how flippantly Ganondorf seemed to switch from one mood to another at the slightest things. Some may have claimed him a passionate sort of man, as was common with the ambitious sorts, but she had always felt it much closer to instability.

Even so, the promise of new books to keep her sane was a most welcome thing, and any opportunity to be out of her tower was one she leapt at eagerly.

_Not that I don’t **love** being confined to cold, dark spaces._

“Oh… That would be suspiciously nice of you, if you weren’t in it simply to gloat.” She offered with a faint, though genuine, smile; a titter on the edge of her voice as she rose to take his hand. “But don’t be disappointed when I fail to see the flowers that _aren’t there.”_

He gave an evasive hum, leading her slowly away from the table at a pace she could keep stride with easily. He smirked down at her, watching with mild curiosity as the Princess sought to hold his arm in a manner she found both appropriate and comfortable, and seemingly failing in this task.

“Oh, I think you’ll find that I can be quite persuasive when I need to be.” He purred low, satisfied overall with how they had recovered from the night previous. He held back the rumble of a chuckle to match it, but judging by the feel of her fingertips fluttering about the crook of his elbow, Zelda had found the foreshadowed intent within his remark.

As they walked through the halls, the notions it stirred seemed to hit the nerve intended, for within minutes, Ganondorf was aware of subtle probing about his arm and side. He caught her peering at him from the corner of her eye every so often as she did this, a light squeeze offered to the muscle revealed without his armour. His under dressings were lined with fur and quite thick to trap the warmth, but even so, the Gerudo supposed he may as well have been shirtless to her.

It occurred to him then that the Princess had likely never seen what a man looked like beneath his clothes, despite the trashy romances she’d read. Save only for the odd description or illustration in anatomy books required for her knowledge of healing magic, Zelda’s imagination was probably the extent of her personal experience. Her father was something of a puritan that way, he’d found, if the distinct lack of nudes or sexual symbolism in his art collections had been any hint—from what he had seen of them thus far, anyway.

Thinking back on her formal attires and regalia, he found he somewhat pitied that. Cloistered within castle walls and covered up even in the summer, layered with fabrics that didn’t breathe and tight corsets in which one could hardly bend. Zelda had grown up in a society that gasped at the sight of an ankle, after all. He could hardly blame her—if he were truthful—for favouring books about, or even wishing for, a star crossed romance full of passion and intimacies to replace the stifling and droll.

It had him wonder, in the back of his mind, just how far she’d be willing to go in order to ‘trick his heart’ as she intended. Then the darker parts of him stirred for the chance to find out, and a rather cruel smirk found him as they approached the top of her stairway.

 _Well, that is certainly going to be a learning curve for her,_ he snickered internally _, but you never can tell with the quiet ones…_

He came to a halt when the pair stood before her doors, half expecting her to leap from his arm and disappear inside without more than a cursory ‘goodnight’. To his great interest, though, she lingered instead to offer him a smile, slow to remove herself and folding her hands before her politely.

Inside, Zelda was doing her best not to seem awkward or unsure of herself before him—by Gods above, the man had to be upwards of seven feet tall. One hand fluttered somewhat nervously to pat the side of her hair, lightly readjusting one of the pins that held her tresses in place, as she searched his face for any sign of dismissal. Surely he didn’t expect to come in?

_Oh, Farore’s breath of life, do not let him come in._

“Well, I… suppose I ought to light the fire before it gets to late into the evening, and the chill sets in…” she fumbled, gesturing behind herself in a clumsy sort of manner and silently pleading with him to bid her a good evening first. “I’ll look forward to seeing you in the morning, then?”

_Please go away now._

Before she could lower it, the Gerudo had reached forward to snatch the stray hand, bending ever so slightly as he brought it to his lips. It was a chaste thing, and within the realms of polite contact—the hallmark of a gentleman, in fact, and a gesture Zelda had been on the receiving end of more times than she could count.

But the very instant she felt his mouth graze her knuckles, warm breath fanning over her fingers softly, the Princess froze. They both felt it, surely she wasn’t the only one—it was like she’d been electrocuted, a powerful, foreboding flicker hitting her like a rush as Power bled into her bones, and Wisdom reached out in turn to defy her; momentarily syphoned. She didn’t breath. She didn’t blink. The shock rolled through her like a thunderous wave to shatter all the confidence she’d built up thus far, a seeping cold sinking into her depths.

He wore that awful, sneaky, _knowing_ smirk as he pulled away to let her hand slip listlessly back to her, and the gold of his eyes seemed to flash like lightning as she was reminded of the storm that reflected him.

“Sweet dreams, Princess…” he purred as he slipped away from her with a nod, the hint of sharp canines seeming to end it on a predatory hiss.

The second he was out of sight, Zelda was through the doors to shut them quickly behind her, shoulders pressed against iron as if her willpower was stronger than any lock. She stood there shakily until her legs failed her, sliding down slowly to the floor and tending her hand as if he’d bitten it.

Whether it was the flutter of her relic set against the want and hunger of his, or the false comfort she was allowing herself to feel as she grew bolder around him, she couldn’t be sure… Perhaps it was the memory of the storm, and the fury she had witnessed. Contempt and familiarity too closely run to be easily defined.

But something took hold of her heart then in terror that night, reminding her of the _nightmare_ that man could bring.


End file.
